


Inch by Inch

by Demonicputto



Series: By My Side [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon - Good Omens (Book & TV Combination), Canon Compliant, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, secondary original characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24166843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demonicputto/pseuds/Demonicputto
Summary: Six years ago Crowley was given the chance at free will and a human life. Aziraphale was willing to let him go for a mere 80 years or so, but that changed when he learned that his friend was suffering. In order to protect him, Aziraphale was forced to become a human child himself.Now, at last, Crowley (currently Anthony Drake) is safe. As he, completely unaware of his past existence, adjusts to his new foster home, Aziraphale finds he must make adjustments too. His mission complete, he must now contend with his own human life all while balancing the memory of a dear friend with the child before him.(Part 2 of the By My Side series. The first chapter is written so that you can jump in fresh, but it’s ideally read after Part 1)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: By My Side [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654357
Comments: 347
Kudos: 363





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's come here from Part 1 and welcome to anyone new. 
> 
> For those who've already read the first part:  
> A few of the paragraphs early on are a bit re-cappy, but it shouldn't be too much.
> 
> To those who are new:  
> I think the chapter should make sense even without Part 1, but I would suggest going to read that if you find yourself enjoying this one. Also, while the fic leans more toward show canon in a lot of ways, it very clearly follows the time line of the book. Welcome to the 90s.

August 1997

There was only one way to spend an afternoon in Aziraphale’s opinion: a cup of tea, a tin of biscuits, a good book, and perhaps the promise of dinner with Crowley to be had that evening. At present he was curled up in one corner of the sofa, a copy of _Great Expectations_ open in his lap. He’d read the book before, of course, but it had been a good few decades since his last go around and he’d forgotten just how wonderfully depressing the description of Miss Havisham was in her introduction. Lost in the rich language of Dickens, it was easy enough to imagine that he was having an ideal afternoon, but that delusion came crumbling apart like so much duck bread in the water when a small freckled face appeared over his shoulder.

“What’cha reading?”

And all at once, his odd reality returned. His cup of tea was iced and far too sweet. The biscuits had been denied him on the account that ‘it would spoil his dinner’. The book, while still the same splendid story, had been purchased from a chain store just a few days prior. And the Crowley who’d just interrupted his reading, wasn’t _exactly_ Crowley.

Six years earlier, Crowley- the real one, had taken the opportunity for a real human life. The sort with parents and aging and needing to eat every six hours or so. He’d said it was just a matter of Free Will, of getting the chance to be make his own decisions for once in his ancient existence. Aziraphale suspected there might have been more to it, but he’d never gotten the chance to find out; Crowley had taken the chance and disappeared.

Then, a little over a year ago now, Aziraphale had learned that Crowley was in danger. His mother, which he had now, was struggling with drug addiction, his father was abusive. Aziraphale had gone after him by becoming mostly human himself. He’d wound up only nine-years-old and in the care of Edith and Elijah Clark, a well-meaning, rather religious, American couple. After months he’d tracked down Crowley, managed to get him out of a situation of neglect, managed to get him into the care of the Clarks. It had gone about as well as Aziraphale could have hoped for. Crowley had been nearly mute when they’d found him, and after just a month together he was asking questions and chattering away.

Aziraphale should have been thrilled but he was starting to reach two very difficult conclusions. First, though his mission was complete he was still here. He was still human in every aspect but his mind. At ten years of age he may well be stuck living this life for another seventy, eighty, ninety years. He’d been so focused on Crowley’s wellbeing up until now that he hadn’t really given that prospect the attention it deserved. He had a human life now. What on earth was he going to do with it?

“Angel. _Ezra!_ What’s the book?”

“Oh! Yes, er, it’s called _Great Expectations_. It’s by a very famous man named Charles Dickens. I’m certain you’ve heard of him.”

“Nah.” The small boy shook his head. He pulled himself up beside Aziraphale and snuggled in close enough to look at the pages “What’s it about?”

“It’s the story of an unfortunate young orphan whose life is changed when he receives money from a mysterious benefactor. Would you like me to read it to you?”

“No.” But he didn’t move. He stayed pressed against Aziraphale’s side, his little head resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

And he, of course, was part of Aziraphale’s other difficult conclusion. He loved the boy, in part because of what he was and in part because of what he had been, but after half a year of thinking of him as ‘Crowley’ he wasn’t sure that was fair. The Crowley in Aziraphale’s memories was still the handsome, lanky demon who teased and philosophized with him. The one who’d saved him from the reign of terror and the blitz. The one who’d faced the end of the world by Aziraphale’s side.

That was an awful lot to put on the tiny boy beside him now. Though his hair was still red, the head it curled upon was barely three feet off the ground and though his eyes were golden the pupils were no serpentine slits. He was bright for his age, especially taking his upbringing into consideration, but he was still only six. When Aziraphale wanted to discuss the concept of eternity, he had to face the fact that his companion considered the age of eighteen be to multiple lifetimes away. After all, from his point of view, it was.

Consequently, Aziraphale had been making a concerted effort _not_ to think of him as Crowley. That name belonged to the friend in his memories, the dear creature he might get to see again someday when all of this was over. For now he only had Anthony, and Anthony would do.

He pet the child absentmindedly and returned his attention to young Pip’s trials and tribulations. He took a sip from the glass of powder made iced tea and tried not to grimace. He could make this work.

Then he was interrupted again.

The front door of the Clark residence opened and Elijah Clark came in, a look of relief evident the moment he stepped into the air conditioning. He noticed Aziraphale and Crowley almost immediately and gave them the sort of loving but disappointed smile that was usually reserved for the fathers on television situation comedies.

“What are you two doing cooped up in here? It’s the middle of summer! Go enjoy it.” He might have been more persuasive If he hadn’t come in dripping with sweat.

“Oh, we’re enjoying ourselves just fine, thank you,” Aziraphale answered. At his shoulder Crowley- no _Anthony_ nodded sleepily.

“That wasn’t really a question, buddy. Put on some sunscreen and go play outside,” Elijah said. “If you can’t find anything else to do you can help your mom with the garden.”

The old corded phone in the kitchen rang and Elijah disappeared to answer it. Resignation heavy in every movement, Aziraphale pulled himself to his feet. Cro- _Anthony_ wiggled off the couch until he fell to the floor in a heap.

“Let’s just stay here. What’s he gonna do about it?”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. This was a new development that had popped up in the past week or so. After years of being so berated by his father that Anthony was frightened to even speak, he was beginning to realize the adults populating his new life were incapable of half so much cruelty. Consequently, he kept threatening mischief and little acts of defiance.

“It would be disrespectful of us to ignore him, and he would be disappointed. Come along now.” He held out a hand and Anthony scampered after him. Soon they were properly sunscreened and out beneath the early August sky.

Though the world was beautifully bright, decked all over in its most brilliant greens and blues and yellows, the weather was miserable. It was hot and stickily humid in a way it rarely ever got in England. Aziraphale found himself sweating before they’d even left the front stoop.

Anthony seemed not to notice. He hopped down each step, punctuating every movement with some wordless melody of his own devising. When he reached the bottom he spun around and flashed a grin in Aziraphale’s direction. It was only then that he noticed Edith, bent over and kneeling in the flower patch. He froze up a bit, suddenly embarrassed.

He was certainly more comfortable with the Clarks than he had been before. He no longer avoided their eyes and would sometimes speak or ask them questions, but the open chatter and goofy smiles were, as yet, reserved for Aziraphale alone.

“Hey boys! Ez, I thought you were reading?” Edith said, pausing to wipe her brow and take a sip of her iced tea. _She_ didn’t grimace.

“Father thought it best that we get some sun. Do you need any help with the garden?”

It was very clear that she did. The woman had no idea how to care for flowers. She kept planting things in the wrong season which inevitably led to them curling up and dying when the root systems didn’t have time to set. Aziraphale had used miracles to cheat his way through his stint as Brother Francis, but he still felt he might have been more successful at this than Edith was.

But the woman was out of her depth here, so ignorant of what she did not know, that she did not realize she needed assistance. She waved them away, telling them to go off and play. There was less than a month until school started; they should have their fun while they could.

Anthony didn’t need to be told twice; he seized Aziraphale by the hand and dragged him toward the swing set, away from Edith’s hearing. The Clark family lived in a manse behind Westwich Methodist Church. Elijah was the pastor there, and the housing was lumped in with his salary. There were benefits to the placement, including both the pastor’s short commute and access to the church property. Anthony had been quickly enamored by the small playground placed between the church and house. On everyday but Sunday, he didn’t have to worry about sharing it.

Aziraphale settled down on one swing, laying _Great Expectations_ open in his lap. Beside him, Anthony pumped his legs until his own swing was soaring through the air, wind rustling through red hair as he appeared in and out of Aziraphale’s peripheral vision.

It always made Aziraphale a little bit nervous to watch him play here. Anthony was so reckless that Aziraphale struggled not to cluck over him like a mother hen. He often failed.

“Do slow down, Anthony. You’ll flip right over the frame!”

He stopped immediately and the swing shuddered to a halt. “I know. I was trying to flip!”

“You shouldn’t. It’s not designed to do that and you could get hurt. It’s not safe.”

“ _Angel_.” Anthony rolled his eyes, though he gave Aziraphale a fond little smile. “Swinging is only fun if you go real fast.”

“ _Really_ fast,” Aziraphale corrected. The intention was missed.

“Yeah. _Really_ _really really_ fast.”

Aziraphale raised a disapproving brow causing Anthony to sigh in defeat. Giving up on speed, he adjusted himself in the swing so that he lay flat on his belly and then twisted himself around in circles. When the chain of the swing was tight as it could go, he lifted his toes from the earth and spun rapidly back in the other direction. When he recovered, Anthony started the whole process over again. It was an improvement, Aziraphale supposed. Making himself nauseous was preferable to falling from a height and cracking his head open.

Still, it was odd to watch him at times like this. No matter how he tried not to, Aziraphale kept looking for signs of Crowley. He kept wondering which behaviors were the results of Anthony’s human life and which were intrinsic to his very being. In the ‘Just Crowley’ category, Aziraphale mentally added ‘Going very fast’ and ‘rolls his eyes when I’m being a stick in the mud’.

There were times when Anthony didn’t seem much like Crowley at all. Aziraphale certainly couldn’t imagine the demon skipping down the stairs or snuggling a stuffed animal. The mental image alone made him chuckle. It didn’t bother him much, really. They were typical childlike behaviors. Perhaps, if putti were real, that’s what Crowley would have been like when he was small.

Besides him, Anthony had stopped spinning, rolled onto his back, and now hung there staring up at the sky. The boundless energy had dropped away and he seemed almost entranced by the way the puffy clouds sailed slowly by high above them. He began to hum, aimlessly at first, but soon the notes congealed into a melody.

Aziraphale had heard it often in the past few weeks. Anthony had gained possession of a handful of videos that had been donated to the church’s children’s program over the years, and the ones he liked were played on repeat. Among these was an odd film about puppets on a road trip and, whenever Anthony watched, he’d rewind the musical numbers four or five times before letting the story continue. It was one of these that he began to sing aloud.

_“This looks familiar, vaguely familiar,_

_Almost unreal, yet, it’s too soon to feel yet._

_Close to my soul, and yet so far away._

_I’m going to go back there someday.”_

Anthony’s voice was sweet and full with the same surprising musicality that Aziraphale had noted when he’d first heard him sing a few months back. He didn’t know what to make of it. Certainly Crowley had always been fond of music, but he didn’t sing, at least not sober. Anthony, however, sang more comfortably than he spoke. He hummed and drummed and picked up melodies with ease. Was this something Crowley would have done if he could? Was he stopped by some demonic nature or the constant anxiety of being watched by hell?

Aziraphale didn’t know.

And that bothered him more than he could say.

* * *

“Alright Ezra, we’re going to be right in that room. If either of you need something you can ask Mrs. Eriks. But I brought coloring books and snacks so you should be able to keep busy. Is that alright?”

“Ezra can handle it, Edith. We’ve got to go in before we’re late,” Elijah said, rustling Aziraphale’s hair in a way that knocked his glasses just slightly askew.

Edith nodded in agreement, but gave Aziraphale and Anthony each a bear hug as though they were going off to college for the first time. They weren’t.

All they were doing was sitting in the office at Roger Sherman Elementary School (Aziraphale’s recent Alma Mater) while the Clarks attended a meeting about Anthony’s education. Aziraphale had been expressly put ‘in charge’, although Mrs. Eriks, the secretary, was running copies just across the room.

It was strange to be in the school in the summer. It was oddly still, quiet, far cleaner than Aziraphale had ever seen it. Walking through the empty halls, the building looked bigger with no one around. Anthony had clung to Aziraphale’s arm, eying the classrooms and uncovered cork boards as though he’d stepped into a whole new world.

He seemed a bit calmer now, dangling his feet over the edge of a foam-rubber chair and staring at a bowl of hard candy on the secretary’s desk. Aziraphale opened the bag Edith had entrusted to him and dug through loose crayons and sketch books to find a container of animal crackers. He handed it to Anthony.

“Here. If you’re hungry you can have these.”

“I’m not hungry; I just want candy.”

This seemed fair as far Aziraphale was concerned. Still, he opened the container and popped a tiger and two hippos into his mouth. Just because Anthony wasn’t hungry, didn’t mean he wasn’t.

“Ezra! Tony! How are you two doing?” Aziraphale froze in surprise. He knew that voice. It was Dr. Amanda, the child therapist that both he and Crowley visited on a weekly basis. He’d never seen her outside of her office.

He turned and offered a smile. “Doctor, how lovely to see you. I didn’t expect that you’d be here.”

“I’m here as consult,” she said without further explanation. Aziraphale appreciated that she did not define the word for him. She knew he’d know it. “How are you today, Tony?”

Anthony had sunk down in his seat and was staring at the floor. “ ’mfine.”

In their first four meetings, he’d apparently refused to even speak with her, preferring to fiddle around with a xylophone without making eye contact. This was an improvement, but it was still rather rude.

“Anthony, that’s not how you say hello.”

Aziraphale received a glare that reminded him so strongly of Crowley that he was charmed instead of offended. Despite his clear displeasure, Anthony listened to him.

“Hello, doctor. I’m alright.”

Dr. Amanda had never actually met them _together_ , and her eyes widened at the immediate turn around that Aziraphale had achieved with a simple sentence. She smiled at Anthony, “I’m glad to hear it. I’ve got to go, but we can talk more on Wednesday, if you’d like."

Anthony glowered in a way that made it clear that he wouldn’t ‘like’, but a thought flickered behind his eyes and he spoke again. “Tell ‘em I don’t want to go to kindergarten. I wanna go to first grade!”

The doctor’s smile became less practiced and she paused before entering the room. “We’ll take it under advisement.”

She was not the last adult to walk by. Shortly afterward a harried young woman, whom Aziraphale recognized as the state social worker in charge of Anthony’s case, burst into the office, glanced at her watch, and sighed with relief. The meeting was scheduled for 2:00. It was only 1:57.

She noticed the two boy shaped beings just as she was about to enter the meeting room, and offered up a friendly smile and a slight wave of her hand. Though Aziraphale responded with a polite nod of the head, Anthony ignored her. He curled into Aziraphale’s side as best he could, despite the chair arms separating them.

“She’s only here for the meeting, dear. She’s not going to take you anywhere,” Aziraphale murmured, wrapping an arm around the child’s shoulders. There was only a grumpy whine in response. It was hard to blame him. Kind as the social worker was, she usually appeared in moments of upheaval.

It was she who’d taken Anthony to a group home after his mother had been taken to a detoxification center and his father had been deemed a potential threat. She’d brought him to stay with Clarks as well, but kept dropping in for wellness visits. A few weeks back, she’d also been responsible for bringing him to court to testify against his father. It was all necessary, of course, to make sure Anthony was safe and protected, but that was difficult for a six-year-old to fully grasp. He began to tremble, and only stopped when Aziraphale placed a soothing kiss on the top of his head.

It had done enough good that Anthony glanced up curiously when the final arrival stumbled in. A bespectacled man, with what could best be described as an impressive mustache, passed through the room without looking up. He was far too absorbed with the box of papers tucked under one arm to notice, Aziraphale, Crowley, or even Mrs. Eriks still filing away in the corner. Aziraphale didn’t recognize him at all.

“That’s odd. I don’t believe he works here; I never saw him while I was at school…”

“That’s the test man,” Anthony whispered.

“He’s what?”

“The test man,” Anthony insisted. “Your mom took me to a weird building in the middle of town an’ that guy was there. An’ he asked me questions. But not like, not like, Dr. Amanda or anything like that. He made me name colors, and count, and do the alphabet, and organize stuff, and do a puzzle.”

“Oh, yes. I believe she took you the board of education’s central office. He was probably trying to tell how ready you were for school.”

“Yeah, I figured. I had to do other weird stuff like walk backwards and cut out shapes and hold a pencil and zip up my coat. I guess you can’t go to school if you can’t do a zipper.”

A new concern sprang to mind. “Anthony, you did talk him, didn’t you? I mean, you didn’t refuse to go along with it?”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Course I did. After a little while anyway.”

That was a relief. Aziraphale was glad the test hadn’t been done earlier in the summer; they wouldn’t have gotten anything out of him. “That’s good. If you hadn’t, there wouldn’t be any chance of you skipping over kindergarten. Why is it you want to start in the first grade anyway?”

Anthony made a face. “Kindergarten is for babies.”

“Well, don’t be too upset either way. You’ve got to trust that all those adults come to the best conclusion for you.”

“ ‘Snot the best if it puts me in with babies.” Anthony was fully sideways on his chair now, so that he could look directly at Aziraphale. “Angel, what’s school like? Is it fun to be with other kids? Did you like first grade?”

“I er… I never went to first grade.” Aziraphale admitted before he remembered to lie.

“How come?”

“Well, there- there isn’t a first grade in England.” He was relatively certain that was true, although admittedly he’d had little cause to pay close attention to the precise organization of the English school system. “The names are all different and there isn’t anything called kindergarten at all. It’s just Year 1 and so on. I think…”

Luckily, Anthony was not interested in the specifics of the various education systems used throughout the UK. He was too curious about the building they were in. “Well, you went here last year. How was that?”

“Just fine. The teachers were kind enough and my classmates were friendly.” His lack of passion was causing a little worried crease to appear between Anthony’s eyebrows. Aziraphale changed tack. “I think you’ll enjoy yourself. You’ve never really had the chance to get to know other children your age. I rather imagine you’d like it.”

Anthony cocked his head to the side. “I guess. I wish you were still going here. Then I _know_ I’d like it.”

He had a way of looking at Aziraphale that the angel wasn’t entirely sure what to do with. He’d smile, mouth crooked to one side, just the way Crowley had. His eyes however, nearly glowed with naked adoration, as though he believed that Aziraphale had hung the stars, which was especially odd given it ought to be the other way around. It made him wonder if Crowley had ever looked at him like that from behind those blasted sunglasses. Aziraphale supposed not; it took the innocence of a child to love so unabashedly.

“Are you excited about Middle School?” Anthony asked. “It’s all big kids there, right?”

“I er…” Aziraphale began. He hadn’t really given it much thought. “I don’t… I don’t know. I… I don’t really know what it’s like.”

He tried to take stock of what he did know. He’d only be attending it for three grades. The school educated mostly 11 to 13-year-olds which, now that he thought about it, seemed like a rather terrible idea. Children in their early adolescence weren’t exactly known for being easy to get on with. Aziraphale would be trapped among them for the next three years. It wasn’t something he’d considered when he’d signed up to become human.

This worry hung over him as the afternoon dragged on, even as Anthony moved to other topics and questions. They colored together, and Aziraphale answered queries about wildlife, astronomy, pirates, and pancakes, all while he fought to keep questions of the future at bay.

He’d write a letter to Adam. He’d ask what he knew about American middle schools and what it was like to be eleven. Or maybe he should skip that and ask about twelve; Adam had a very unique experience with eleven. But even if he did get those answers it would only be enough guidance for the next few years. There was so much of this human business he hadn’t thought through. He’d thought it would pass in the blink of an eye, but the decades didn’t seem to go quite as fast when everything was changing and growing like this. It made him feel all the more as though he ought to _do_ something with his time here, and all the less certain that he’d be good at any of it.

It was a relief when the Clarks finally reappeared and bustle came to fill the void of his concerns. People filed out of the meeting room, nodding and shaking hands with the lack of comfort created when a group of people who spent most of their time working with children were forced to interact as professional adults.

Anthony clung to Aziraphale’s hand as the humans passed by. He stared at the floor to avoid their well-meaning smiles. It was only when Edith and Elijah came close that he looked up and bothered to speak. “What’s gonna happen?”

Edith smiled, “Well, Tony. We all decided that it'd be best for you socially to be with kids right about your age. So you’re going to start in the first grade. Does that sound alright?”

Anthony nodded vociferously.

“We also agreed that you’re going to keep seeing Dr. Amanda outside of school, and you’re going to talk with somebody _in_ school twice a week who’s going to help you practice getting along with other people.”

At this, Anthony raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t voice the concern. Instead he said. “Did the test man say I’m smart?”

“He was very impressed.” Elijah said. “He said you’re quite clever, but you still missed some stuff from not going to kindergarten, so we’ll have to do some extra work at home too.”

“I can help with that,” Aziraphale piped up.

Elijah shook his head fondly. “You’re going to have plenty of homework of your own to worry about, buddy. That and you’ll be making new friends and trying new things. Middle school can be a big change and I’m sure you’ll be plenty busy. You worry about you. Let us worry about Tony.”

Aziraphale would have preferred worrying about Anthony. Worrying about himself was only giving him agita. But, he supposed, going through all of this was part of caring for Anthony. It was a leg of the gauntlet he’d agreed to. If Crowley could brave Nazis for him, Aziraphale could brave adolescence for Crowley.

Surely middle school wouldn’t be as bad as the Second World War.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the song Crowley/Anthony was singing to himself on the swing if you're interested.  
> I'm not sure what it is about Muppets singing to the moon, but apparently it means something to me.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ryEjm3k6uY0 
> 
> Also, for the first time since Part 1 Chapter 1, Crowley gets to have the third person limited on his shoulder next chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the first chapter that uses 'Tony's' perspective and I'm hoping the switch off in naming conventions won't be confusing. In the Aziraphale sections they're referred to as Aziraphale and Anthony, but in the Tony sections they're referred to as Ezra and Tony. Hopefully this clarifies their individual characters instead of being jarring.

September 1997

Dr. Amanda’s office had a lot of toys Tony didn’t have at the Clarks’ house. He liked the xylophone best, so much so that he’d tried to sneak it home under his shirt the last time he’d visited. He’d thought he was being really clever about it too, since he’d put it behind his back instead of down the front, but Mrs. Clark had noticed right away and made him give it back. Dr. Amanda had other stuff too though. There was a whole castle with knights and everything, plus a bunch of different games. The doctor tried to get him to use the doll house once, but he wasn’t having any of that.

Today she’d asked if he wanted to play one of the board games and he’d taken his time choosing something out. The Clarks already had Trouble, Operation, and Clue, so he wasn’t much interested in any of those. He wound up choosing Mouse Trap, although he didn’t want to play it so much as he wanted to put together all the pieces and see if he could get the trap to work. Dr. Amanda had offered to help, but he’d shaken his head and said he could do it himself.

That probably wasn’t true, but to keep her from noticing how much trouble he was having, he decided to talk with her.

“So,” the doctor asked as Tony tried to fit a couple pieces of plastic together, “you’ve been at school for almost a month now. How are you liking it?”

“It’s fun, I guess.”

“What’s your favorite part?”

“I dunno. There’s this really, really, tall slide on the playground. It’s made of metal and gets kind of hot but if you’re wearing long pants you can go down super fast. And there’s a curly slide too, but that one’s slower. I tried to climb up it and Mrs. Sawyer got mad.”

“Is that your teacher?”

“Yeah.” He’d gotten part of the trap working now and he ran the little marble down it and watched it roll onto the floor.

Dr. Amanda picked it up and pressed it back into his hand. “Do you like Mrs. Sawyer?”

He shrugged. “She’s okay, I guess. ‘Cept when she talks to me she always says it like we’re both doing something, even when she just means me. Like ‘Tony, we need to work on raising our hand when we have a question’. She doesn’t mean that cause she never gets in trouble when she doesn’t raise _her_ hand.”

“Do you ever get in trouble?”

“Yeah. Everyday.” He paused a moment to try and get the rubber band to stretch over a piece of the trap. It snapped in his hands, but the doctor handed him a fresh one without a thought. He decided that deserved more detail. “Like one time I found a penny so I tried to glue it to the story time rug. But the glue stick wasn’t good enough. Oh, and she doesn’t like it if you call somebody stupid even when they are. And she really doesn’t like it when you call out over and over, but I got stuff to ask. Anyway she’s not scary when she’s mad, so I don’t care.”

“What about the other kids? Do you like being with them?”

The mouse trap was getting too frustrating, so he pushed it aside and turned to face her completely. Ezra was right; she really wasn’t all that bad. He liked her better than the school psychologist anyway. Mr. Conklin always made him practice ‘scenarios’, and he didn’t appreciate when Tony did funny voices.

“I like that there’s other kids. It’s more fun. I like getting everybody to look at me, like when I went down the slide face first or when I jumped off the swing like a zillion feet. Oh, and trading lunches is fun too. I’m real good at that. I keep getting people to trade me cookies and chips and stuff for just an apple.”

“Are there any special friends at school?”

“Nah. But I got Ezra so I don’t need anybody else.” Tony frowned as the doctor began to scribble something in her notebook. He didn’t like when she did that. He tried to read what she was writing, but it was upside down and he only knew his name and words that ended in ‘-at’ anyway. “Do you write stuff down when he talks to you too?”

One dark eyebrow rose up. “I take notes with all the kids who visit me, but they’re private. I don’t tell Ezra what you talk about and I won’t tell you what he talks about.”

“ _I_ tell Ezra what we talk about. I tell him everything,” Tony assured her.

“And that’s fine, because it’s your choice. But if he doesn’t want to tell you about our conversations then that’s okay too,” Dr. Amanda explained.

Tony squirmed in his seat, bringing his attention back to the failed mouse trap. He made a few attempts to get the See-saw right and then shoved the whole board to the floor.

“Can you tell me why you did that, Tony?”

“Cause it’s stupid,” he said and snapped his eyes back to her. “I don’t think Ezra likes his new school.”

“What makes you think so?”

“He only talks about it when his parents ask him and then he just says whatever he’s learning but he never says anything else. And I like to wait for the bus with him and he always looks real sad when he’s got to get on it. And he stopped wearing his bowties to school even though he likes them a lot and wears them all the rest of the time.”

She was quiet for a while, which made it feel like she was really listening to him. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. “Are you worried about him, Tony?”

He nodded.

“Well, I think you can do a lot just by being a good friend. Let him know that you’re there if he needs someone to listen.” Dr. Amanda knelt down and picked up the fallen board game, putting all the bits back on the table, piece by piece. She nodded to it and together she and Tony started to put it back together. “Just knowing that you’ve got someone there who can help you out and lend an ear- that can make a big difference. And if you’re really, really, getting worried about him, you can talk to Mr. and Mrs. Clark about it, because they’ll want to help Ezra too.”

With both of them the trap wasn’t difficult to assemble at all. Tony ran it through once, and watched as the little cage fell down, capturing the plastic mice. “You see Tony, sometimes when we’re struggling, all we need is a little help.”

* * *

For the first six years of his life, Tony’s bed had been in the main room of the apartment he’d shared with his parents. He’d hated it. There was never anywhere he could go that was his. Even in the middle of the night, he couldn’t be certain his parents would stay in their bedroom. His mother would often come home just before the sun came up and he’d wake to see her giggling or crying as she shuffled into the house. When his father was having trouble finding work, he’d watch television at odd hours, cursing at the screen when his team lost or Tony if he sat up in bed.

If he closed his eyes really tight he could imagine he was somewhere else. He’d pretend he had a big stone castle, with wide empty hallways, the highest towers, and maybe a garden so he wouldn’t even have to go outside where all the people were. Safe inside his castle he’d be all alone. No one would be there to yell at him or tell him to shut up. And no one could leave him behind or throw him out.

It had been his fondest dream forever, to have a place that he wouldn’t have to share.

And yet, Anthony liked sharing a room with Ezra. It wasn’t the room itself- he wouldn’t have chosen blue walls or the sports border near the ceiling (and he didn’t much think that Ezra would’ve chosen them either). What he liked was the little bits around the room that reminded him of his roommate.

He liked the two big book shelves with the carefully organized novels that Ezra trusted him to look at. He liked the giant dresser they shared, which had a small drawer filled with nothing but meticulously organized bowties in different patterns of tartan. He liked that when he woke up in the middle of the night it was quiet and dim, but if he rolled over and squinted he could see Ezra’s slumbering face across the room.

Sometimes he still pretended that he lived in his big empty castle but now he always pretended that Ezra and his books and his bowties were there too.

It was Thursday now, the day after his appointment with Dr. Amanda, and Tony sat on his bed, swinging his legs and watching Ezra put their clothes away. He folded everything gently, with the sort of care more suited to an adult than a child. He was working on the socks just now, rolling them around each other, so that they’d fit easily without getting stretched out. He was humming something quietly to himself, as though the chore itself were calming instead of mind numbingly boring.

“What’s that song?” Tony asked him.

Ezra looked surprised for, as though he’d gone somewhere else for a moment. “Oh, er, it’s just a silly thing from a very old musical.”

Tony clambered off the bed to get closer to him. He enjoyed being close to Ezra. “Would you sing it for me, angel?”

Ezra blushed, but he sang anyway.

_“Even when the darkest clouds are in the sky,_

_You mustn’t sigh and you mustn’t cry._

_Spread a little happiness as you go by;_

_Please try.”_

He stumbled then, breaking into uncomfortable laughter. His cheeks were quite pink, and Tony thought he looked even more like an angel than the first time they met, even though he wasn’t dressed like one now. It made Tony want to tease him more, but he decided not to. Dr. Amanda had said he should be helpful, so he tried to do that instead.

“It’s okay though if you wanna cry sometime though. I won’t mind.”

“Thank you, Anthony, but there’s nothing at present that I’m upset about.” He’d turned back to the laundry, now folding more violently

“You are though,” Tony told him. “I know ‘cause you don’t wear your ties to school anymore.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Ezra frowned. “Besides, you told me I looked like a… like a ‘little grampa’.”

“I didn’t say that was bad!” Tony insisted. In all honesty, he did think the bow ties were silly, but that’s part of why he liked them. “And asides I said that like forever ago and you didn’t stop wearing them until school.”

“What is the point of this interrogation?” Ezra’s eyes flashed, and he annunciated his words with dangerous clarity. He’d never spoken that way before, not to Tony. He hadn’t even known Ezra _could_ get angry at him. Tony’s lip began to wobble.

“Oh dear. I didn’t mean… Come here dear, it’s alright. I’m sorry that I snapped at you.” Ezra softened, wrapping Tony into a soft hug and petting his head like were some lost animal.

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be the other way around. Tony had meant to help Ezra, to comfort him through his moment of need. Although he would have been happy to stay in the warmth and comfort of Ezra’s arms forever, Tony pulled back and did his best to look grown up.

“You’d tell me if you needed help, right?”

In the office of Mr. Conklin, school psychologist, there was a poster on the wall that showed different emotions. It had a lot of children’s faces on it with labels underneath and Mr. Conklin would point to it when he talked with Tony.

_“When you took Emily’s glitter pen without asking, how did she feel?”_

And Tony would point to angry, or enraged, or shocked because, even though the children in the pictures weren’t very good actors, the poster certainly seemed to have all the different emotions covered.

But Ezra was more complicated than Mr. Conklin’s feelings poster. His face flitted through about twenty emotions, each so minute that Tony could barely read them before they were gone.

He caught sadness going by, then love, a bit of something that might have been shame or hopelessness. Between them were emotions too quick or too complicated for Tony to fully comprehend. When they finally stopped, Ezra was smiling at him.

“You needn’t worry about me. I’m absolutely fine.”

Mr. Conklin had said smiles were happy. Mr. Conklin had lied.

* * *

October 1997

Ezra was very good at hiding the fact that something was wrong. If it had been Tony, he never would’ve been able to get his school work done, or talk nicely to the ladies at the church, or get on the bus five times a week. If he were unhappy he’d have shut down entirely, curling up on the couch and watching _The Muppet Movie_ until the world ended. That or he would’ve broken something. He definitely wouldn’t have kept on going like everything was fine.

But Ezra did.

He smiled, studied, and soldiered on. He chatted brightly with Edith as he helped her prep for dinner and discussed sermon ideas with Elijah as they raked leaves. It was almost enough to fool Tony too, but he watched closely and he saw the little chinks in the armor.

The bowties remained relegated to Sunday alone and sometimes, when he was reading, Ezra would pause, sigh heavily, and stare out the window as though he wished he were somewhere else. Then Tony would ask if there was anything he wanted to talk about, and Ezra would just shake his head and smile in that way that wasn’t entirely happy.

It seemed the best Tony could do was distract him with questions or amuse Ezra with his antics. He hoped that was its own kind of help.

And so, on one chilly evening in early October, Tony tried his best to make Ezra laugh as they did their homework at the kitchen table. It wasn’t easy. Ezra was doing his best to concentrate on whatever weird math they were doing in middle school. Still, Tony had caught his eyes a few times and managed to make faces weird enough to earn a chuckle.

He considered it a very successful use of his evening.

Edith, apparently, did not. “Tony, do you need help? You’ve been sitting there for fifteen minutes and you haven’t written anything down.”

“Uh,” said Tony, paying attention to his work sheet for the first time. There were eight pictures on it with half completed words. He’d forgotten what he was supposed to put in the blank parts. “I don’t know.”

Edith pulled out a chair and settled down beside him, as Ezra lowered his bespectacled head back into his fractions. “Okay Tony, it looks like you’re learning a new sound in reading. So you need to write the letters that make that sound down on the line.”

She pointed to the first one. “So what’s this a picture of?”

Tony glanced at it. “A tub.”

For some reason, Edith laughed. “Try a different word for the same thing. See, there’s already two letters down. B. A. What noise does that make?”

“Ba.” Tony glanced across at Ezra to see if he was watching. He didn’t like that he only knew a few basic sounds while Ezra could read whole grown up books. It made him feel stupid.

“Good. Now what’s another word for a tub that starts with BA?”

“Bath?” Tony ventured.

Edith smiled at him as though he’d just discovered a new planet. “Great! And did you learn in school today what letters make a ‘th’ sound?”

He had actually. They’d spent the whole morning on it. “T and H?”

“Wonderful, Tony. Can you write those down right here?”

He did. And then he wrote them down at the beginning of ‘thumb’ and the end of ‘teeth’ and so on until he’d finished his entire work sheet. Across the table, Ezra had finished his math and moved onto reading.

“Don’t forget to write your name at the top.” Edith reminded him. Just as he was about to make the “T” she added, “Why don’t you try writing your full first name, since that’s got the ‘th’ in it.

He stared at her blankly. At times she seemed like such a nice, smart woman, but clearly that wasn’t true.

“There’s no ‘th’ in it.” To be honest, he’d never actually tried to spell his full first name before. ‘Tony’ was so nice and easy, it didn’t seem worth the time. Still, he did his level best to explain how she was wrong. “It’s A-N-T-U-N-Y.”

“Honey, no.” She took his pencil and wrote it for him, spelling it out as she went. “Your full name is A-N-T-H-O-N-Y. AN THU NEE.”

He stared at her, mouth hanging open, then turned to Ezra, desperate for some kind of clarification. But his nose was buried in some school book and he’d missed the whole conversation.

When Tony spoke next, his voice was piercing with disbelief. “That’s not right! It can’t have a ‘th’ in it. Ezra’s the only one who uses my full name and he says Antunny!”

Ezra was certainly watching now. He was clutching the book to his chest, brow furrowed behind his glasses. He looked upset. Tony wanted him to laugh.

“Honey, some words don’t follow the rules, and which words those are can be different depending on where you’re from. Ezra’s using the rules from where he was born. But when your mommy named you she pronounced it An _th_ unny, and it does have a TH in it.”

Tony didn’t care about that anymore. He cared that Ezra looked as though he might cry. He tried to make him laugh. “Gee, angel, have you been reading all the books wrong too?”

Apparently that wasn’t funny. Ezra didn’t say anything. He stood up, pushed his chair in, grabbed his back pack, nodded to Edith and left. He looked flustered and embarrassed. Tony hopped out of his seat to go after him.

Edith gently took his hand to stop him.

“I gotta say sorry. I hurt his feelings.”

“I know, and I’m glad that you see that, and I’m glad that you want to apologize. But Ezra’s almost a teenager now and sometimes he’s going to need a bit of time with his feelings before he wants to talk. Let’s put your homework in your folder and pack your lunch for tomorrow and then we can go up and see him.”

Fine, if that’s what it took, Tony would do it. When his bag was by the door and his Hot Wheels lunchbox was ready in the refrigerator, he pulled Edith by the hand through the living room, passed a bewildered Elijah, and up the stairs to his bedroom.

They found Ezra curled up on the bed, still reading his book as though nothing had happened.

“Are you doing okay, Ez? Tony wanted to say something to you.” She pushed him forward slightly.

Tony cleared his throat, “I’m sorry I said that. I thought’d be funny but it came out mean.”

“That’s perfectly alright,” Ezra said brightly. “There’s nothing to worry about. I over reacted a bit, is all. I’m just fine.”

Edith smiled, gave Ezra a kiss on the forehead, and left the room, as though everything he’d just said were true.

Tony, however, wasn’t buying it. He climbed up on the end of Ezra’s bed and frowned at him. “You’re lying.”

“I am not.” Ezra tried to raise his book and hide behind it, but Tony stuck his hand in the way.

“Are too! You’ve been sad ever since school started… and I just made it worse…”

Ezra reached out to him, offering a comforting snuggle, but Tony folded his arms.

“No. Say what’s wrong. I wanna help _you_ this time.”

There his face went again, flipping through miniature emotions like shuffling playing cards. At least this time when they stopped, he ended on something honest, a downcast gaze of embarrassment.

“It’s really nothing worth fussing over. I just don’t quite fit in at school. It’s nothing I hadn’t expected, perfectly developmentally normal. Children in their early adolescence are starting to gain a fuller understanding of the wider world and their place in it. It makes them want to fit in more, find a place where they belong. And for a lot of the boys that’s going to mean marking those who _don’t_ fit. It clarifies that they do. And I’d much rather _I_ be the target than someone else. I can handle it better than an actual- than another child.”

“But you stopped wearing your bowties.”

“Yes, well... There are battles worth fighting and those that aren’t. Bowties aren’t really worth it.”

Now that Ezra was finally talking, Tony allowed himself to sit closely. “I’d fight them for you. I’d fight them over bowties or anything!”

“I doubt very much that that would help, but thank you none the less. I can handle this.”

“But it bothers you…”

“Only in that-” he stopped abruptly and then paused for a very long time. Tony curled up beside him, waiting patiently. It was clear Ezra still wanted to say something, he was just trying to figure out the right words. “Only in that they remind me of… another group of people. Another group where everyone had to fit in and if you didn’t they looked down on you. And I suppose I’d sort of hoped I’d gotten away from all that, so it hurts a little to see it here looking very much the same.”

“Did those people live in England?” Tony’s geographical understanding was very limited. He wasn’t entirely sure where England was, if it were another state or country or continent. He just knew that’s where _Mary Poppins_ took place and where Ezra had come from.

“They were from my old home,” Ezra answered. “Yes.”

“An’ they were mean to you too.” It wasn’t really a question, but a moment of understanding. Tony had never met these people, but he hated them with every fiber of his being. He hated them more than he hated his father, because hurting Ezra was far worse than hurting him.

Ezra noticed Tony’s clenching fists and placed a gentle hand on top of them. “It wasn’t so bad as all that. In fact, I think that’s why I got so upset tonight. You see I… I… I had a friend, back in England. A friend who isn’t- that is I… he isn’t around anymore. And he made dealing with everything so easy. I don’t think I fully appreciated it at the time. And now he’s gone and I know it’s ridiculous, but that whole silly conversation about AnTHUnee and AnTUnee, it just reminded me that I don’t have him anymore. It made me feel all the more lonely.”

Tony knew Ezra had had a different family once, but he never spoke of them, never even seemed to miss them. This lost friend though, this was something entirely new, and it made something inside of Tony squirm with discomfort. It was difficult to name at first, but he supposed it was closest to jealousy. He didn’t want someone to matter more to Ezra. He didn’t want Ezra to be lonely when he was sitting right there.

But he knew enough to know he shouldn’t say that. It wouldn’t make Ezra feel any better. So instead he squeezed his friend’s hand. “You can always talk to me if you want to.”

Ezra sniffed heavily, wiping tears from his face with the back of his free hand. “That really does help a bit. Thank you, Ant- Oh… do you not want me calling you that anymore? Should I pronounce it the American way?”

“No!” Tony said with such force that Ezra’s tears were shocked into submission. Tony continued more quietly. “I like the way you say it. It’s special. It’s just you. Like, maybe when I’m too old to be called Tony I’ll have everyone else call me AnTHunee, but I don’t ever want you to say it that way. Not ever.”

“Alright then. I won’t. So, thank you, Anthony. It’s been nice to get some of this off my chest.”

“No problem.” And it wasn’t. Something about helping Ezra felt right. Perhaps he could barely read, and didn’t know where England was, and couldn’t understand fractions, but he could do this. He could help Ezra, and that mattered more than anything else in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's favorite song as shared by Neil Gaiman: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8zqJJfAdWQA


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some salty language and bullying in this chapter.

October 21, 1997

Aziraphale’s experience with eleventh birthdays was rather limited. The very concept brought to mind absent hell hounds, flying cake, and the piping voices of jeering children. Even if he’d had a lot of jolly school chums to invite to a birthday party, he would not have done it. No, a small celebration with Anthony and the Clarks was preferable for a multitude of reasons. Calmer, less noisy, more cake per person- really he couldn’t imagine why anyone would prefer a big to-do.

He was enjoying himself. It was just past 7:00 and the household was still gathered in the dining room, scraping up the remains of their cake. Most nights they ate in the kitchen, but Edith had insisted that this was a special occasion. Elijah, with Anthony’s help, had decorated the room with streamers, balloons, and cheery paper plates, while Edith set about baking cake and acquiring Aziraphale’s requested dinner from a local Japanese restaurant. He had not yet finished opening everything from the small pile of presents at the center of the table, but he was already feeling quite loved.

The gifts the Clarks insisted on purchasing for him had all been a good fit so far. There was a collection of classic literature, a few more modern books and, while they had not forgone the toys completely, the LEGO castle had been expressly marked with a card labeled ‘For you to build with Tony’. It all made Aziraphale feel rather understood.

There were only two presents left now. Edith picked one up and pressed it into his hands. “Open this one next. Tony wants his to be last.”

Aziraphale complied, tearing yet another gift free from the confines of confetti spangled wrapping paper. Contrary to its chipper exterior, the book beneath was blood red and featured the image of a raven perched atop a skull. The embossed lettering read: _The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allen Poe._ “Oh, thank you! I can’t remember the last time I read any of his work.”

“Whose head is that?” Anthony asked, leaning across the table to get a better look at the cover. His eyes were wide with curiosity and he didn’t seem to notice that he’d put one of his elbows into his plate of cake.

“Poe’s works are often dark. It could be any one of the victims in these stories,” Aziraphale explained giving his best go at a spooky voice. “I’ll read some to you before bed if you’d like. After all it’s practically All Hallows’ Eve.”

“Maybe you could do a read aloud at the church’s Halloween party this Saturday?” Edith suggested. She had already dipped her napkin into her water glass and was washing frosting from Anthony’s arm. He was pouting, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Elijah cleared his throat before Aziraphale could get excited about the prospect. “I’m not sure that’d be the best idea… I’m not sure if the church party is going forward at all, to be honest.”

“Why not?” Edith asked, releasing Anthony’s arm. “We’ve already had people sign up to bring treats and run activities. We can’t cancel it now.”

“I don’t want to, but Mrs. Jones is on a tear. She’s been calling everyone up trying to get them to drop out. She heard somewhere that Halloween is ungodly and now she wants to cancel everything.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Aziraphale said flatly. He doubted anyone in heaven even knew what Halloween was, let alone cared if humans celebrated it. _He_ didn’t even care particularly either, he hadn’t even participated last year, but Anthony was excited and he wasn’t about to let some church lady ruin it.

“I agree,” Elijah said with a shrug. “I mean, it’s not an uncommon talking point with evangelicals, but Methodists aren’t evangelicals so I don’t know what her issue is. Still, it’s probably best to at least play down some of the spookier, darker, more evil side of the holiday. Otherwise she-“

The phone rang and Elijah sighed dramatically. “That’s probably her again. I’ll get it. Keep doing presents without me. This’ll be a while.”

He disappeared into the kitchen.

“If they cancel the party, _we_ can still trick or treat, right?” Anthony fiddled with the ribbon on his gift for Aziraphale and didn’t look up.

“Yes. You’ll still be able to trick or treat, although not if you can’t decide on a costume. We’re running out of time to pick something up,” Edith chided. “Now go on, yours is the last gift.”

With a nod, Anthony thrust the present across the table toward Aziraphale. He blushed, suddenly bashful. “Your mom bought it, but I picked it out.”

It was an odd little box, long and thin, and Aziraphale couldn’t quite imagine what was inside that a six-year-old might have selected. He opened it hesitantly, removing first the wrapping then the lid, as though whatever was inside were precious. After all, given where it came from, it was certain to be precious to him.

His heart swelled. Inside was a watch with a band of beige and gray tartan, not dissimilar to his own favored pattern. Anthony cleared his throat.

“It’s for grown-ups, so it might be a little big. But it’s not a bowtie, so you can…” he paused and glanced at Edith. “You can wear it wherever and it’ll be fine.”

It was a small thing to make Aziraphale tear up so, but there was so much love in it. A little strap of fabric that said at once ‘I notice what matters to you’ and ‘I will find little ways for you to be yourself, even if no one else will let you’. Statements that Anthony could not quite form on his own, but he could feel them and mean them and act on them.

“Thank you so very much.” Aziraphale desperately wanted to hug him, but Anthony was such a bright shade of red already that he was afraid he might pop. “This means so much I-”

“Ezra, that was your school counselor.” Elijah reemerged in the room, tone strained with worry. Aziraphale tried to imagine what he’d done wrong as Edith’s face went white beside him. The only thing he could think of was the fact that he’d read ahead in his book group, but he’d already apologized to the English teacher for that. “She said your teachers are worried about you. That you’re sitting alone during lunch and you hardly speak to your classmates, particularly the other boys. They wanted to give it some time, to see if it was just part of adjusting to a new school, but they all seem to think it’s getting worse instead of better. Why didn’t you tell us you were having a hard time?”

“I… I… I didn’t want to be bother. I didn’t particularly have close school friendships last year either, but it was fine.”

“It was not fine.” And though Aziraphale knew Elijah meant well, there was something in the wording that made him squirm. It sounded as though Aziraphale had done something wrong. “You’ve got to talk to people, buddy. You’ve got to try and make some friends your own age and that’s not going to happen if you keep pulling away.”

Oh, to be somewhere other than here. To be in his true form, in his book shop, with his solitude. What misery to sit and be lectured at because it was all too hard to be a convincing child when he walked among them. Aziraphale closed his eyes tight, waiting for the moment to pass. Hoping for some distraction.

“I KNOW WHAT I WANT TO BE FOR HALLOWEEN!”

Aziraphale opened his eyes and stared at Anthony. So did the Clarks. His little fists were clenched tightly on the table and he was fixing Elijah with the oddest grin. His eyes were angry, as though he were just as frustrated with the way Elijah had been speaking as Aziraphale was, but without any of the shame.

But there was something else to his expression as well, something remarkably like Crowley when he thought he’d perfected some bit of mischief.

Edith spoke softly, “I don’t think this is the time for-”

“Yes it is,” Anthony announced. He laid on a guilt trip before continuing, “You said that since my parents forgot to take me last year that I could be whatever I wanted.”

“Yes but-”

“And the only thing I want to be for Halloween is the devil.”

Aziraphale covered his hand with his mouth, as though he might be able to hold the smile in. He glanced toward Elijah and saw the look of a man who was already trying to figure out how to explain this to his outraged congregants. He had been struck dumb, and his mouth moved wordlessly on an ashen face. Based on Anthony’s wicked little grin, this was precisely what he’d been going for.

* * *

Anthony’s devilish diversion had been a true stroke of genius. He had been successful, not only in ending the friend conversation for a single evening, but in keeping both Edith and Elijah distracted for the ensuing ten days. Whenever the spotlight of parental concern began to creep back in Aziraphale’s direction, Anthony would find some way to bring it back towards him.

So far he’d asked if he could walk around with a pack of cigarettes because ‘the devil is bad and does bad stuff’, got a group of children at the church’s downgraded ‘Harvest Holiday Party’ to start singing Halloween songs, picked Mrs. Jones out after church so that he could loudly describe his costume of choice, convinced Edith that if Westwich Methodist wasn’t going to use their decorations the Clarks might as well, and pretended to summon a demon with a plastic Ouija board.

He was a perfect storm of chaos, simultaneously defensive of Aziraphale and wild with the realization that no one in this new life was half so terrifying as his father. All the timeouts in the world would not be enough to stop his torrent of mischief.

By October the 28th, the night of Ouija incident, Aziraphale was starting to pity the Clarks.

He sat on the floor of the living room, quietly cross multiplying, when Elijah entered the room, Ouija board in hand, and sank low into the sofa.

“I sent him to bed early, but he seemed happy to go. Why do we even have this thing?”

“It was mine in high school, it just sort of wound up with all my other old board games. At our sleepovers, we used to try asking ghosts who we’d end up marrying,” Edith told him. Aziraphale glanced up at the two of them sitting close on the couch. Though Elijah looked like he was slowly struggling through an inescapable hell, she seemed unbothered.

Edith was averse to conflict. Politeness and a desire to keep the peace drove nearly every decision. She wasn’t going to argue with Elijah about whether Anthony was out of line, but Aziraphale suspected she actually found it funny.

“I don’t know what’s happened. He was making so much progress. Talking to us, opening up, started school alright, and now it’s like he’s finding ways to make things difficult on purpose, like he’s trying to make me look bad. I’ve been getting calls since that stunt he pulled on Sunday, old ladies begging me not to let him go out in that costume.”

“We promised,” Edith said simply.

“I know. I know we promised, but I do worry about what message it sends from our church. I mean, he’s in our care and he’s walking around dressed like Satan. What are we teaching him?”

“It’s just a costume. Don’t buy into all that silliness with Mrs. Jones. Kids like to be scary on Halloween. That’s all it is. Well, that and him testing boundaries. The bigger deal you make of it the more ridiculous he’ll get.”

“But it just looks so bad.” Elijah pressed his forehead into his hand as though he might be able to squeeze the tension headache out if he tried hard enough. He looked so vulnerably, exhaustedly human that Aziraphale decided to offer a little help.

“You know, if it’s the appearance of the thing that you’re worried about, I might have an idea that could help,” he said. Elijah raised an eyebrow. “The concept of Satan in relation to the church isn’t inherently problematic as he is, in a way, a religious figure. The issue comes from that being the _only_ bit of iconography that your putting forth on Halloween. However, if you were to balance that out, it would just seem like a bit of cheeky fun.”

“Where is this going, buddy?”

“Well, I was going to take him trick or treating anyway, and the church already owns all the Christmas pageant costumes. I was thinking I could dress as an angel. That way, since the two of us would be out together, it would just look appropriate. A bit of balance, if you will. A representation of both the good and the evil in the wider world. There are many ways you could spin it to please the ladies of the church.” If Aziraphale also thought it might be amusing to tell Crowley about this some decades hence, that was just a bonus.

Edith lit up. “I think that’s a great idea! And I’m glad you’ll be going out in costume; you’re still young enough to go trick or treating yourself, you know.”

They both turned to Elijah but, to Aziraphale’s surprise, he didn’t look pleased. On the contrary, the line between his brows had deepened, and he seemed to be struggling for his words. “Are you sure you want to do that? The church’s reputation isn’t something you should be worrying about. Go as whatever you want.”

“I think it would be delightful if our costumes matched.”

“I get that, but you know, you’re in middle school now and you’re getting older and those angel costumes are sort of… you know… not very cool,” he ended lamely.

What a ridiculous thing for a grown man to worry about. Aziraphale offered the sort of smile one usually gave to anxious little children. “I’m sure it will be alright, fun even, and it will solve your problem too.”

“It’s a good idea, Elijah. Let him do it,” Edith added.

And so the pastor nodded, though the movement was slow and uncertain. For some reason, he was still clearly dreading the prospect.

* * *

October 31, 1997

The previous year, Aziraphale had stayed stubbornly at home, reading pleasantly to himself in a proper cardigan and slacks while children rang the doorbell occasionally and asked for sweets. It had been rather uneventful especially considering that, tucked behind the church as it was, the Clark residence received only a handful of visitors. He had not realized what a big deal the holiday truly was here.

Now however, the autumn breeze was blowing brisk and wild, playing at the hem of Aziraphale’s robe and making him glad Edith had insisted he wear jeans underneath. All around him children scampered this way and that, dressed as everything from ghosts, to queens, to firefighters. They screamed and laughed, clutching close pillow cases or plastic pumpkins steadily filling with the evening’s loot. The sun had already set, but streetlamps lit the leaf covered pavement and cast odd shadows through the crooked branches of naked trees.

Anthony, in a red zip up number, his stuffed arrow tail trailing on the ground, clutched Aziraphale’s hand and tromped happily along beside him. He was evidently less interested in the candy than the wild abandon of the evening, as he had looped the handle of his jack-o-lantern bucket over the end of his plastic pitchfork and was hanging it precariously over his shoulder.

“Do we gotta head back already?” He frowned as though it were an unjust prospect, but a large yawn revealed the truth.

“Yes. We promised to be back by seven ‘o’ clock and we’ve only ten minutes left. We can hit a few more houses on the way if you’d like.” He received a cheerful, if slightly sleepy, nod in return and off they went to the next home.

Aziraphale, although he felt rather foolish begging for free food, could not deny that he was enjoying himself. It was all just so jolly. More than any of the rest of it, he liked having Anthony nattering cheerfully by his side. It was familiar in a way, even as it was new.

He also enjoyed the sweets.

Before long they had turned back on to their own street, the steeple of Westwich Methodist a darker shadow against the night sky. The wind blew hard, chilly with the whisper of oncoming winter, Anthony leaned against Aziraphale’s side, and he felt a wave of protective fondness.

“Is that Ezra?” Aziraphale shut his eyes and held back a few choice words. He recognized that voice from school. “Hey Ezra, why you wearing a dress?”

There was no good way to respond to that. If he pedantically corrected them, he would be implicitly supporting the idea that it was wrong to wear a dress. If he tried to explain the complexities of human cultures and their societal beliefs about clothing and gender, his classmates would grow bored and angry. It was best to ignore them.

He tried that first, putting his head down, tightening his grasp on Anthony’s hand, and picking up the pace. Behind him, amongst the various noises of raucous trick-or-treaters, he heard another set of footsteps speed up too.

“Hey Ezra! Don’t ignore us. Hey Ezra! We just want to talk.”

Aziraphale turned around and saw three small figures in sweatshirts and plastic masks. He knew all of them, and he forced himself to pause, take a deep breath, and remember that these were only children. Only children. Only terribly behaved, bratty, awful children. He could sense Anthony’s yellow eyes gazing at him, and tried his best to be polite.

“Oh, hello, Gavin. John. Will.” He nodded at each boy in turn. “I do hope you’re enjoying your evening, but I can’t stay and chat. I’ve promised to have my young friend home and if we don’t get a wiggle on we’re going to be in a spot of trouble.”

He started walking again, but the other boys jogged to catch up. Soon he and Anthony were flanked. “God, Ezra where’d you even come from?”

Gavin Beecher was a peculiar type of bully, unique to wealthy communities. All his power came from the fact that his parents sided with their son whenever he got in trouble. He had no shame about bursting into tears and playing the victim when the mood suited him. Still, he was easily intimidated by adults and consequently whispered his cruelties now. The gulf between his perceived toughness and reality was too wide to see across, but he’d somehow convinced his friends to follow his lead.

“Come on, Ezra. Don’t ignore us. That’s mean, Ezra.”

Aziraphale become uncomfortably aware of the thinning crowd as they got closer to the church. The only home to visit down here was the manse, and most children wouldn’t bother coming so far. There would be no parents milling about on the long path beside the church. Gavin and company would start to feel brave.

This would not end well.

Almost as soon as Aziraphale put a foot on the church lawn, Gavin grabbed him by the shoulder. He yanked back, causing Aziraphale to stumble. The orange pail he’d been clutching rolled across the grass, vomiting its sugary contents as it went.

“Fuck, Ezra,” Gavin said with the abandon of a child who’d just learned how to swear and was going to overdo it. “You can’t be such a fat fucking nerd _and_ so fucking ga-”

Gavin did not get to finish his insult. Anthony, who’d been gripping Aziraphale’s hand tighter and tighter as they walked, suddenly released his grip and launched himself at the older boy. Though Anthony didn’t weigh much, the force of his jump was enough to take them both down. They sprawled in the dirt, Anthony’s plastic pitch fork beside them, his little hands slapping and grasping at Gavin’s face.

“Leave him alone! Leave Ezra alone!”

Aziraphale and Gavin’s friends stood in useless shock, watching as he screamed, “Get him off of me. He’s crazy!”

Anthony was crying, lost in his own fury, and continuing to shout. “Don’t you hurt him. Don’t you ever even talk to him.”

Once he’d overcome his own terrified surprise, Gavin pushed the smaller child off of him and scrambled to his feet. Anthony lunged for his pitch fork and, still sitting, beat his enemy about the shins with it. A hollow plastic thunk punctuated each useless blow. Gavin’s hair was a mess, his face scratched in places as though he’d fought with a cat rather than a first grader. He was red with anger as he raised a foot, kicked the toy weapon from Anthony’s hand, and then stepped on his chest, forcing him to the ground.

“DON’T YOU DARE HARM HIM.” Aziraphale preferred to be gentle. He liked a quiet night in, books, tea, a little music on the gramophone. But he’d been created as a soldier, trained to fight and protect. Small and weak though he may be at present, he still knew how to intimidate. At the sound of his voice Gavin flinched, giving Aziraphale time to insinuate himself into the middle of the fight.

Whatever Gavin saw in his eyes then was enough to make him back away. He didn’t speak again until he was out of reach and even then his words lacked bite. “I’m gonna tell.”

“Going to tell what? You’re going to tell your parents that you got beaten up by a six-year-old? I’m sure that will work out splendidly. It’ll be all over school in a matter of hours and you’ll be a laughing stock until you leave for university. Best keep your mouth shut and swear your friends to secrecy.” Aziraphale gave him an icy glare. “Now we’re done here. Be off with you.”

Gavin sniffed loudly, in a way he probably hoped sounded tough but which was clearly camouflaging tears. “Whatever, Ezra. Fuck this, guys. Let’s go.”

He hunched off, purposely stomping on fallen candy in his retreat. The other boys hesitated as he passed them, glancing back toward Aziraphale and Anthony, perhaps wondering if they ought to fight for their own honor rather than retreat.

Anthony grasped for his pitchfork and snarled, “I’ll poke your eyes out!”

“Shit, dude, he’s fucking nuts,” one said to the other and they turned and followed Gavin into the night.

A tension finally lifted from his shoulders, Aziraphale let out a heavy sigh and took stock of everything around him. Anthony was a mess. The headband of red plastic horns that perched atop his head was askew and there was a distinct dirty footprint on his chest. He’d torn the knee from his costume when he’d tackled Gavin, and when he stood up Aziraphale could see blood trickling down from a scrape. There were scrapes on the heels of his hands too, where he’d caught himself, and the seam attaching tail to seat had ripped enough for stuffing to peek out.

Despite all this, Anthony was grinning ear to ear. He picked up Aziraphale’s fallen candy bucket and popped what sweets he could salvage back into it before proudly handing it over. “See if they ever make fun of you again!”

Aziraphale suspected that they would, but he could not bring himself to extinguish the child’s joy. “You’re my hero, Anthony. Thank you.”

Whatever wicked edge had existed in Anthony’s victorious pride faded away completely. His eyes shone with unabashed love as he reached for Aziraphale’s hand. “I’ll save you any time, angel.”

Aziraphale wondered how God could stand to be worshipped by so many so often. He had only the adoration of one small (not entirely) human child, and he felt overwhelmed by it. “Yes, well, we really ought to get you home. You’ll need some bandaging up.”

He let Anthony lean on him as they walked the rest of the path around the church and up to the manse. The poor boy was limping with each step, the pain of his knee making it difficult to fully extend his leg. Still, he remained in high spirits as they entered the house, even when the Clarks looked up from the couch and gaped at what they saw.

“I’m sorry if we’re a little late,” Aziraphale said before they could speak. “We got held up.”

“What happened?” Elijah said as both parents rushed towards them. Edith knelt, checking Anthony’s wounds and mumbling quiet, calming phrases beneath her breath. Elijah just looked at Aziraphale.

“Er, you see it was, well it really wasn’t much of… Just a bit of a tiff. We’re all alright. Anthony’s alright. Nothing to be overly concerned about. Just, er, your run of mill boyish shenanigans. You know, rough housing and all that…” He petered out as he watched bewilderment join concern on both the Clarks’ faces.

“Rough housing with who?” Elijah questioned. “Not you. Your halo isn’t even bent.”

“I beat up the bad guys!” Anthony announced, still gleeful with his act of heroism.

“Bad guys?” Edith asked. She looked at Aziraphale. “What is he talking about?”

He’d tried to keep his trials at school private. He hadn’t wanted to worry the Clarks or to weather their scrutiny of his social skills. But there could be no lying about it now, not without deflating Anthony, and Aziraphale was loathe to do that.

He looked at the ground. “We ran into a few boys from my school with whom I don’t exactly get along. They, mostly it was just one of them, but they followed us and were rather unkind. By the time we were near the church it had turned to outright mockery. And at that point-”

“I knocked him on his butt!” Anthony chimed in, waving the plastic pitchfork for effect, “And I roughed him up and now they won’t ever pick on Ezra again. Not if they know what’s good for ‘em.”

A look passed between the Clarks and then a nod, as though they’d come to some conclusion. Edith stood quickly and took Anthony by the hand. “Alright, Tony. We’re going to go upstairs and get you changed and put on some band-aids. And we’re going to have a little talk about using our words rather than our fists.”

“Then candy?” He asked as she helped him up the stairs. But Aziraphale didn’t get to hear the response before he was left alone with Elijah.

“How long have these boys been picking on you?”

“I don’t know exactly.” Aziraphale took the pipe cleaner halo from his curls and ran it between his fingers. “ The first few days of school, I suppose.”

Elijah let out an exasperated sigh and gestured for Aziraphale to take a seat on the couch. He did so, but was surprised when Elijah sat on the coffee table instead of beside him. He’d rather they didn’t have to face each other directly.

“Ezra, I don’t understand why you’ve been keeping this a secret. If you’re having problems, you need to talk to us. We’re here to help you. We _want_ to help you. You don’t have to keep struggling to fit in and make friends. We can work on that.”

It was aggravating, being talked to like this, like he was a child who’d misbehaved. Worse, it made him want to be petulant. He forced himself not to fold his arms and pout. He did _not_ force himself to remain quiet.

“I don’t understand why you’re acting like I’ve done something wrong. _I_ was the victim in this situation. Is it a crime to be a misfit now? Were those boys in the right?”

“Ezra,” Elijah said softly, “I didn’t mean that. I do want those kids’ names. I’ll call up your school first thing Monday, and we’ll make sure the teachers know to keep an eye out for this. I’m just feeling frustrated that I didn’t know this was going on. I wish you’d talked to us.”

“But that’s just it. I don’t want you to report it. There are always cruel actors in any group of people. It’s been that way since the dawn of time. Those with power, whatever that looks like in a given situation, are going to lord it over those whom they perceive as weak. If they don’t pick on me, they’ll find someone else, someone who might not be able to handle it.”

“That’s not fair to you, buddy. You shouldn’t have to carry all that by yourself.” Elijah ruffled his hair gently. “I’m still going to call the school.”

“If you feel you must.” Aziraphale had nothing more to say, but Elijah kept looking at him as though the conversation wasn’t over.

“And I need you to be more honest about what’s going on with you. Your mom and I, we don’t just want to hear the good stuff. So, let’s try this out: How was school today, outside of the classroom?”

“I had a rather engaging conversation with my Social Studies teacher. She had lunch room duty and we discussed Brutus’ betrayal of Caesar. It lasted until someone across the room spilled a canned soft drink and she had to go help them clean it up.”

“Any discussions with someone your own age?”

If he couldn’t count Crowley, that was going to be a rather difficult requirement to fulfill, in more ways than one. Aziraphale shook his head. “I’ve had a very long day. Must we do this now? I promised Anthony I’d read him ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’ tonight. We’ve been saving it for Halloween.”

Elijah studied him closely before slowly nodding. “Alright. We’re both probably better off saving the conversation for when we’re less tired. But we do need to talk.”


	4. Chapter 4

November 1997

The Clarks were talking in the living room and Aziraphale knew perfectly well they were talking about him. If they weren’t, Edith wouldn’t have gone through such lengths to make sure he was kept busy. She often baked with him on Saturdays, ensuring that there would be something scrummy available for the parishioners after services. Today, however, she’d laid out all the ingredients, preheated the stove, handed him his apron and told him that she knew he could do it himself. Then she put crayons and paper out to keep Anthony occupied while she and Elijah disappeared into the next room to whisper.

If only he didn’t catch occasional snatches of hushed worry, he might actually be enjoying himself. In all his 6,000 years he’d never taken the time to actually learn how to prepare food, but now he was finding he rather liked it. After all, if you were going to be stuck as a mortal, it was worth using the time to improve yourself, and a fresh blueberry muffin tasted all the better when you knew what went into making it.

Aziraphale carefully ladled batter into a muffin pan and tried to focus on the sound of Anthony humming to himself. It was just some silly bebop that he’d picked up from the car radio, but it induced less anxiety than the Clarks’ worried tones. Before long, the muffins were happily rising inside the oven, the dishes were cleaned, and Aziraphale didn’t know what to do with himself. He settled down across from Anthony and twiddled his thumbs.

“So, er, what is it you’re drawing there?” Whatever it was involved such violent use of the orange crayon that he’d nearly whittled it down to a stub.

“I’m drawing a car,” Anthony said without looking up. He was utterly engrossed in his creation.

“An orange car?”

“No it’s black. It’s just on fire ‘cause it’s going so fast.”

Aziraphale could feel his brows jump in surprise. Could it possibly be coincidence? He was about to question Anthony further when Elijah called from the other room. “Ezra, could you come in here for a moment?”

Well, this was going to be unpleasant. He forced himself to his feet with the air of a man going to his execution. Anthony glanced at him. “If you need back up, I’m here.”

Aziraphale just shook his head, removed his apron, and entered the living room where an awkward discussion awaited.

“You’re not in trouble, buddy. We just want to talk.” Elijah patted the center cushion of the couch, directing Aziraphale to sit between he and Edith. If the intention had been toward comfort, the gesture had failed. Settling down between them, Aziraphale felt trapped and all the more wary of whatever they had to say.

“So, your father and I have been talking and we think we’ve got a good idea about how to help you have an easier time making friends.” Edith patted him on the knee and then glanced toward Elijah. They’d not only planned what to say, but divvied up the lines between them.

“What we were thinking is that you should get involved in a new hobby, something that includes other people. There would be a smaller number of kids, you’d be interacting more. We really think it might help you be more comfortable opening up to people outside the family.”

“And whatever it is, we want it to be your choice. An activity that you really think is fun, that you really want to learn. As long as it’s something that includes other kids, we’ll help make it happen. Does that sound like a good idea?”

They leaned in, eager to hear what he had to say. Aziraphale twisted his hands together, and tried to think as though he weren’t on the spot.

It was unfair to expect them to simply let him be and leave him to his own devices. As far as they were concerned, they were doting parents to an eleven-year-old boy and it was objectively concerning that he hadn’t a single friend his own age. Besides, Aziraphale supposed, if he really were an eleven-year-old boy, the chance to sign up for some activity would probably be appealing.

The Clarks were still waiting. “I… I’m not certain what I ought to choose. There is that lovely group of church ladies who have that book club.”

Elijah sighed as Edith forced her smile not to falter. “We’re looking for something with other kids, Ezra. The church book club is all past sixty-five.”

“Oh, right.”

“There are so many options!” Elijah jumped in. “You could join a team and learn a new sport. Or you could do what I did at your age and join the Boy Scouts. I made so many great friends and got to go on camping trips. It was a great experience.”

Aziraphale imagined that scouts involved a large group of people, in the same uniform, abiding by the same group of rules, and practicing the same set of skills. He’d done that before. He had no interest in doing that again. He’d lived with the Clarks long enough now that they were able to read the displeasure on his face.

“Or you could take lessons for something. As long as the classes aren’t one on one, that’d still be a great way to meet people.”

Now there was an idea. Aziraphale had been struggling with his current human existence, in part because he was such a poor fit, but also because he felt as though he had a chance that he was wasting. He had this opportunity, and no idea what he ought to _do_ with it. Lessons might be just the ticket. He could take this lifetime to learn things, to gain skills he could cherish when all of this was over.

But then that raised the question of what lessons he should take. What was it he ought to learn? Edith was already teaching him to cook, so that would be a waste. Was there anything he’d tried before that he could really dedicate effort to now?

“Oh!” Aziraphale clapped his hands together with delight. He knew at once what it was he wanted to do. “Might I sign up for dance classes?”

There are different ways to be surprised by something. Edith’s eyes went wide, but so did her smile. Elijah turned pale, every muscle in his face drawn. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Aziraphale had walked among humans long enough to know all their curious hang ups about roles and behaviors.

He was a guest among them. It was best not to ruffle feathers. “Never mind. It’s fine. I’ll sign up for scouts or whatever you think is best. I really ought to go back to the kitchen now. I wouldn’t want the muffins to burn.”

He slid off the couch before either of them could respond and shuffled back into the kitchen. It had been a nice idea, while it had lasted, but it was best forgotten.

* * *

Though Aziraphale had thought he’d ended the conversation it lingered throughout the next week. The adults had clearly come to no final decision, but they were not saying anything directly to him about it. Instead they hinted. On the car ride to school Edith asked him what sort of dancing he found interesting. When his homework was done, Elijah took him out to play catch. Back and forth it went, with maddening indecision. The choice he’d been promised now firmly out of his hands.

On Wednesday evening, he sat on the floor of his bedroom with Anthony and Elijah, wishing he was somewhere else.

They were building the Lego castle that Aziraphale had gotten for his birthday and the entire project was an ongoing disaster. Elijah studied the directions over Aziraphale’s shoulder and made the tenth of several similar comments, “You know, I’ve always enjoyed building things. That’s something I got to do back in the scouts. I remember my troop built a whole tower just out of sticks and rope. Somehow that was easier than this though…”

The ‘somehow’ wasn’t really a mystery. One third of their construction crew was actively working against the mission. Anthony had opened all the little bags and had begun constructing his own tenuous creation, complete with disembodied plastic heads upon the battlements. There’d be no finishing the project now, but Anthony was humming happily and Aziraphale smiled.

Elijah leaned in and whispered. “I’m sorry if your present didn’t really end up being for you. I thought you might get to follow the directions first, and then when you both got bored of the castle he could go rogue. I didn’t realize he’d start that way.”

“It’s alright. He’s enjoying himself.”

“Still, it doesn’t quite seem fair. It was supposed to be for you.” Elijah was quiet a moment, thoughtful. Aziraphale pretended not to know he was being studied. “Listen, I know it’s been a rough couple of weeks. It seems like you and me and me and Tony haven’t exactly been seeing eye to eye on everything. So I was thinking the three of us could go out this Saturday, just us boys.”

Aziraphale turned, gaze flat. Cold politeness was the best he could do right now. He could only imagine what male bonding activity the pastor had in store.

“Mr. Scott, from church, he’s a collector of all sorts of old things. He’s getting up there in years and his kids don’t want him driving anymore so he asked if I could take him to an antiques fair this weekend. They’re supposed to have a huge collection of books.”

“Oh! That would be just lovely. That’s what I- what my family did back in London, you know. Of course you know, that’s why you’re suggesting it. Yes, thank you.” He faltered, “I’m not sure Anthony will enjoy it though…”

“I think he just wants to go wherever you are, buddy.” Elijah laughed. Anthony looked up from the remains of a collapsed tower and nodded his agreement, before turning back to search the rubble for survivors. Elijah stood up and rustled Aziraphale’s hair. “You know I care about you. I just… I want to make sure you’re alright.”

Then he left, leaving Aziraphale to ponder precisely what he meant by that. Humans could be such odd creatures, considerate one moment and ignorantly cruel the next. Crowley had always argued as much, that you could see the highs and lows in one person. Perhaps this wasn’t quite that far, but there were glimmers of it.

The pocket sized Crowley on the floor had a less philosophical suggestion. “Let’s go spy on them.”

“What?”

“You know he’s gonna go talk to your mom. They’ve been talking about you all week, so I figure we should listen in a little. Or I could keep them from talking about you if you want. I could distract them. I know where the matches are.”

Aziraphale spluttered, “Anthony don’t even suggest such a thing, you could be dangerously hurt!”

“With matches, yeah. But not by listening. Let’s spy!” He offered a grin, part charm, part impish mischief, and waggled his eye brows.

Despite the fact that he most certainly knew better, Aziraphale had trouble saying no to Anthony. Before long they were both lying on their stomachs outside the Clarks’ bedroom door, ears close as they could be to the crack at its bottom. Anthony was staring at him, gaze hardened and serious, a finger pressed to his lip. Any noise might give away their cover.

The voices beyond were somewhat muffled, but clear enough that Aziraphale could make out every word. Anthony had been right, unsurprisingly, ‘Ezra’ was the topic of conversation.

“I don’t want to argue with you, Elijah. If you honestly think scouts is the best option than that’s what we’ll do.”

“But you don’t think I’m right.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to say what you’re thinking. Don’t do this thing where you go along just to keep the peace, when I can tell you think I’m wrong. Tell me why I’m wrong.”

“I just… We told him it was his choice and he chose something. Something he can do with other kids. Our main goal was for him to make friends with children his own age, we never said that they had to be boys.”

There was the sound of Elijah sighing and creaking springs as he sat down heavily on the mattress.

“No. I mean yes, but I don’t just want him to make friends, I want him to have an easier time at school. He’s already got the accent and he’s smarter than everyone else and he dresses like a little grown up; the other kids see him as a target. Dancing is just going to add to that. It’ll make everything worse for him. Scouts would help him fit in. It would make things easier for him. Now and when he grows up. You can see that, can’t you?”

“I said, if you think scouts is the best option, then that’s what we’ll do.”

Aziraphale didn’t need to hear anymore. The conversation was only going to spiral back in on itself. He’d had enough such arguments with Crowley to recognize the pattern, though he hoped their conversations had been a little more thoughtful.

He rolled away from the door and headed back toward his room, Anthony padding after him.

Aziraphale had never been a particularly good angel; not in ways that mattered to the others. He’d come to terms with that over the years, and finally stopped being bothered by it on the day the world nearly ended. Let them have heaven; he preferred earth anyway.

Only he didn’t belong here either, did he?

When Aziraphale stopped, with a heavy sigh, at the center of his bedroom, he found himself wrapped around the middle by a small pair of arms. “It’s alright, angel. I like you if you dance or not.”

And somehow, that did make it alright. 

* * *

Come Saturday, just after breakfast, Aziraphale’s mood was considerably improved. It wasn’t that anything had been resolved, but the Clarks had at least stopped dragging him into the conversation, Anthony was being quite sweet, and there was the promise of books in the near future. He doubted much that he’d find a wealth of first editions at a random antique fair, but the thrill of the hunt would still be there.

“So it’s just gonna be a bunch of old books and stuff?” Anthony asked. He was currently crouched in front of the shelf in their room, studying the spines in Aziraphale’s collection. “You gonna get even more of them?”

“I’d like to, if I find any that interest me. I- my family had quite a collection of antique books back in England. I’d like to have one again.”

Anthony glanced back over his shoulder, with a mournful little expression. “Did it burn down?”

For a moment Aziraphale forgot to breathe, which was a problem since he actually needed to now. He coughed and sputtered before realizing that Anthony must be referring to the backstory he’d made up, the one where all his relatives died in a house fire.

He couldn’t have possibly known what had actually happened to the book shop.

“It’s still there, actually. I’ll get it back when I come of age and am able to take care of it properly. I took a few books with me when I left. The copy of _Winnie the Pooh_ we read together is from the first printing. It’s from 1926.”

Anthony crawled over to where the book sat and looked closely at its neighbors. “What about this one? Wih- wih- wind in the Will- OWs.”

“Oh, very close on the reading, well done!” Aziraphale beamed at him. “It’s _Wind in the Willows_. That one is even older. 1908. It’s a favorite of mine. I’ll read it to you whenever you decide you’d like a change from those scary stories you love so.”

Anthony did not appear to be listening anymore. He was too focused on the next book in the row. He turned his head back and forth, although the spine was printed vertically. “I can’t read this one! Kih-nd... er… Uh-nd…Ha…”

He growled in frustration and reached out, as though physical contact might make the words clear to him. Aziraphale leapt up from where he’d been perching on the end of the bed and grabbed Anthony’s hand to stop him.

He was met by a freckled frown.

“I’m sorry Anthony, but this one’s the oldest of the bunch. It’s nearly two hundred years old and it’s quite fragile. I’ll show it to you, but let me do the touching.” The suggestion was accepted, although not with great enthusiasm. Anthony sat back and looked at him expectantly. With great care, Aziraphale removed _Kinder- und Hausmärchen_ from the shelf and opened to the title page. “The reason you can’t read it at all, is because it is isn’t in English. It’s in German.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s from Germany, you silly thing. They’re allowed to have books too.”

“But why do _you_ have it,” Anthony insisted.

“Oh, well, a number of reasons. For one, it’s a collector’s item. You’ve heard of this book, even if you don’t know it. See those words right there? Die Bruder Grimm? That means the Brothers Grimm. These are famous fairy tales.”

“Like what?”

“Like _Snow White_ , _Hansel and Gretel,_ and _Rapunzel_. There’s many more but those might be the most famous.”

Aziraphale was taken aback by Anthony’s expression. He’d seen Crowley wear that very one before. Eyebrows quirked, a slight, put upon sneer. It usually greeted his magic act. “Doesn’t explain why you don’t got an English version.”

“It was released in Germany first. So this one is more important,” Aziraphale said peevishly. He ran the tips of his finger over the cover, and softened. “Besides, this version was a gift from someone very important to me.”

He slid the book lovingly back onto the shelf and turned to find Anthony pouting at the floor. “That friend you used to have back home…”

“Er, yes. Why are you so sad?”

“M’not sad.”

“You look a little sad…”

“M’not sad!” Anthony shouted and he certainly wasn’t now. Now he seemed angry.

Aziraphale tried to puzzle out what had happened. Something had switched when he’d mentioned it was a gift. Realization dawned and he tried not to laugh. “Anthony are you… Are you jealous of the friend who gave me this book?”

Nothing. Then a microscopic nod.

Aziraphale squeezed him. “My dear boy, you’ve nothing to be jealous of. You really of all people, should not be jealous about that. And even if you weren’t… even if… The point is, you matter very much to me. You’ve been so supportive and sweet this whole week. You’re the world to me, dear. You mustn’t forget it.”

Anthony leaned into him. If he’d had the capability, Aziraphale was certain he would have purred.

The door creaked open and they both looked up to see Edith smiling at them from the entrance. “Is everything alright? Did Tony need a hug?”

“It’s all alright now,” Aziraphale assured her. “By the way, do you know when Father is planning to take us out?”

Something mischievous crept into Edith’s expression. This was the face of a woman with a secret. “Actually, Ez, I hope you won’t be disappointed, but you’re not going to go with your dad today.”

He was disappointed. “Why not?”

“Oh don’t sound like that. I’m sure Tony and your dad will pick out something great for you.”

“I still gotta go?” Anthony groused, slumping to the floor.

“Yes,” Edith said, voice firm. She turned back to Aziraphale. “But _you_ have the first day of your new activity. I’m going to go with you and I thought it would be fun if it were a bit of a surprise!”

If Aziraphale had been an actual eleven-year-old boy, and yet still somehow himself, he would have assured her that surprises were definitely not fun. As it was, she only got the one lifetime, the one chance at motherhood. He supposed he should let her enjoy it.

He certainly wasn’t.

* * *

“Okay, Ez. Open your eyes.”

Aziraphale had been annoyed at first when Edith had insisted he keep his eyes shut. He had enough to worry about, trying to guess what activity the Clarks had deemed a compromise. That’s what this had to be, he was certain of it. If they’d decided on scouts, Elijah would have insisted on attending. If it were dance, he didn’t think Elijah would have smiled when they left.

The best he could figure was it would probably be some non-traditional sport. Something graceful, but violent enough to be considered masculine. Martial Arts perhaps, or fencing. At least he might be good at the latter. He was experienced with a sword.

There was no use prolonging the misery any further. Aziraphale opened his eyes, and his mouth popped open. Before them, one of many buildings in a row of charming businesses, was _Raising the Barre: Dance Studio_.

He was 6,000 years old; it was silly to be excited about such a thing, but he was.

“ _Oh!_ Oh, really! Oh, thank you. Are you certain?”

She looked certain, in fact she looked as joyous as he felt. He supposed he rarely got so excited about such childish things, and she desperately wanted to mother him. “Yup. Your dad and I have been going back and forth all week, but we decided that if this is what you really want to do, then we really want you to do it.”

Aziraphale worried his lip, as his excitement lessened. “You _both_ agreed to that?”

“Yes. We both agreed,” Edith said, though her voice was slightly stilted.

Aziraphale supposed begrudging acceptance was better than nothing. He decided to lighten the mood. “What type of classes did you sign me up for?”

“Well, I know you like a lot of those old movie musicals and Broadway shows, so I was hoping that you might enjoy tap dancing?” She said it like a question and handed him a dance bag with a shiny pair of black shoes sticking out of the top.

He was struck dumb. He’d been feeling like such a misfit lately, as though the only one who understood him was a child too young to share in his burdens. But Edith had been listening and she cared. Aziraphale hugged the bag close to his chest and felt very much like a child indeed.

“So, Ez, would you like to go in?”

The next hour and fifteen minutes was one happy moment after the other. He was met at the desk by a delightful woman who introduced herself as his teacher and showed him where he could get changed. She was warm and welcoming, and let him watch the class that was finishing up before them.

“This is Advanced Ballet Class III. That’s Gregory, he’s the only boy in his class too. He’s been with us since he was six and now he’s almost sixteen!” The adolescents were quite impressive indeed, well beyond what Aziraphale knew himself to be capable of. He’d learned, from his time with the Gavotte, that he was not a natural talent. He was however, doggedly stubborn when he wanted to get good at something. It might not get him all the way to Advanced Ballet III, but it could get him pretty far.

Soon a gaggle of middle school girls arrived, in all the odd sizes that the age range entailed. He felt out of place in his required white T-shirt and black leggings, as they surrounded him in pastel leotards. But though they giggled and blushed to find a boy in their midst, their nerves tended toward delight rather than exclusion. They asked curious questions and vied for his attention before the teacher shooed most of them off to start warming up.

“Could you stay back for a second, Keisha? I think you two might know each other from school.”

Aziraphale studied her a moment and then realized that she was, in fact, one of his class mates. She was a pretty girl, small even for the grade, who normally wore her voluminous curls in large bunches on the sides of her head. For class, however, she’d pulled her hair back into a small bun making her look like a different person.

“Yeah.” She glanced at him a little shyly, “We haven’t talked much, but I know Ezra. He’s the smartest kid in the whole grade.”

“Great,” said the teacher. “Since Ezra’s new to class, I’d like you to be his helper. Can you show him the ropes?”

Keisha nodded. And the teacher turned back to Aziraphale. “So just follow Keisha’s lead. She’s only started tap this year, but she’s been taking ballet and jazz classes with us since preschool. There isn’t anyone better to guide you.”

Then soon enough they began, doing stretches and warm ups, before moving on to steps and proper choreography. It was all so delightfully human, so wonderfully new. Six millennia on earth and there was still more to experience. When the lesson was over and he was changed back into his street clothing, Aziraphale climbed into the car feeling pleasantly exhausted.

If he’d thought Edith had been pleased before the class, it had nothing on her reaction when Keisha passed by and shouted “See you at school.”

She wore an expression somewhere between proud mother and accomplished super villain. Her plan had worked.

Aziraphale’s joy remained undampened all the way home, and then died when he saw Elijah’s car sitting in the church parking lot. He’d been rather hoping he could make his triumphant return to an otherwise empty house. Now, he held his dance bag tightly, wishing it were slightly smaller so that he could more easily hide the elephant in the room.

Elijah and Anthony were sitting on opposite ends of the couch in the living room, each flipping through their own books. Elijah _The Works of John Wesley_ , Anthony some children’s book with a horrifying face on the cover. They both looked up when Aziraphale entered. Elijah cleared his throat.

“So,” he began, not quite meeting Aziraphale’s eye. “How was it?”

“Fine,” Aziraphale said politely, “Thank you.”

The silence that followed was so heavy he could feel his shoulders wilt under the weight of it.

Anthony interrupted, bounding up to see him. “Look what I got. It’s not really really old, but it’s pretty old. It’s a first printing too, like the ones you got. I made your dad check.”

The book he handed over was entitled _Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark_ and had first been published in the long ago year of 1981. Anthony seemed so proud, however, that Aziraphale patted him on the head anyway.

“I can’t really read it yet, but you should see the pictures!”

“Oh, buddy, I uh, I got you something too. It’s not quite a first edition like Tony said it should be, but it’s a pretty old copy.” Elijah was smiling at him, using one side of his face more than the other, as though the discomfort between them was holding half of it down. “It’s um, waiting for you upstairs if you want to take a look.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, more grateful for the excuse to leave the room than the gift that awaited him. Before he and Anthony were all the way up the stairs he could hear the Clarks whispered not-quite-an-argument from below.

Entering the bedroom, he plopped his dance bag on the floor and sighed. He liked his lesson, but he was starting to feel it in his muscles and he couldn’t just miracle the sensation away. He wanted nothing more than to collapse onto his bed, but there was something there already.

The Clarks had purchased him plenty of novels, including those not even aimed at children, so he was surprised to see a picture book resting on his pillow. It was nearly square, faded red, with a black ink picture of a bull standing in a field of flowers.

“I dunno why your dad got you that one, but he was looking really hard for it.”

Aziraphale knew the book. He’d never had a copy, but he knew it well enough to be touched by the gesture before he even turned a page. “Anthony, might I… might I read it to you? We can read your spooky book tonight I promise. This one shouldn’t take very long.”

Anthony hopped up on the bed, ready to for a story, and Aziraphale settled down beside him, spreading the book between their laps. “Once upon a time in Spain there was a little bull and his name was Ferdinand. All the other little bulls he lived with would run and jump and butt their heads together, but not Ferdinand. He liked to sit just quietly and smell the flowers.”

He read on passed the understanding mother, the incident with the bee, straight through the confusion with the matador, all the way until, “And for all I know he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly. He is very happy.”

He closed the book gently, patted Anthony on the head, and walked back down stairs. He didn’t even wait for Elijah to turn around, but leaned over the couch and hugged him from behind.

“You liked the book?” Elijah asked.

“Very much so,” said Aziraphale and he meant it. Every so often human kindness defeated human prejudices. He could only hope it continued to win the battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand the Bull: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VrOk2OlBQfg


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure what changed, but I got a lot more comments and hits after the last chapter than I have before. Thank you to any new readers. 
> 
> Also, sorry for making everybody cry all the time... but I'm gonna do it again.

It was Friday but there wasn’t any school. Tony lolled on his bed, still in his pajamas, and watched as Ezra practiced his dance steps. Edith had gotten him a wooden board that he could tap on and he’d dragged it in front of the mirror so that he could see what he was doing. Ezra looked very serious when he practiced. A little line would appear right between his eyebrows that Tony very much wanted to poke. This was partly because he wanted to hear the funny, little, angry noise Ezra would make, and partly because he wanted attention.

He hadn’t gotten enough yesterday.

The day had started out alright. Wonderful even. The Clarks ate breakfast quickly and bustled around the house, Edith cooking all morning in the kitchen while Elijah cleaned every room until it sparkled. Tony and Ezra, however, had been permitted to sit in front of the television for hours to watch the Thanksgiving parade on TV. He hadn’t been able to last year. His father had locked his mother out of their room so she’d fallen asleep on the couch. Tony had tried to turn the television on but she’d groaned and looked sick and asked him to turn it off.

They’d had left over Chinese food for dinner.

Now though, he got the whole parade and Ezra to share it with. There’d been Broadway songs that Ezra hummed along to and a Santa Claus and big balloons. Later on the news they showed the Barney balloon ripping down the side and sinking to the ground. That was Tony’s favorite part.

He’d been in quite good spirits, even after Edith made him get dressed up. But that had all come to an end when the doorbell rang. One by one a parade of elderly church members arrived for dinner. They pinched his cheeks, patted Ezra on the head, and then spent the whole time talking with the Clarks. Occasionally they’d asked about school, but Tony didn’t trust them so he hid behind Ezra and refused to respond.

Being quiet and polite all day didn’t make for much of a holiday. He’d thought it was just going to be the four of them- maybe one other person. That’s what they’d talked about at school.

“Ezra?” he asked, when the older boy finally stopped to catch his breath. He nodded for Tony to continue as he gulped a glass of water. “Thanksgiving is supposed to be for families, right? How come all those old people came over?”

“A family doesn’t have to be just the people that you live with. It can be the people that matter to you, the people that you want to spend your time with.” He beamed at Tony. “Sometimes the most important person in the world isn’t related to you.”

“Those old people weren’t important.”

“That’s not nice, Anthony!” Ezra admonished. “For the people who came over yesterday, the church really is the only family that they’ve got. Holidays can be lonely for people like that so, as pastor of the church, Elijah felt we should invite them here.”

Tony rolled on his back and stared up at the ceiling light, the unmoving fan a rainbow of primary colors. “I guess. But we could’ve had other people too.”

Ezra settled beside him and peered gently down at Tony’s face. He had a way of looking at you that made it feel like he could figure out anything you were thinking. “Anthony, is there anybody you wanted to invite?”

Tony shrugged, shoulders rustling against his Hot Wheels comforter. “It’s only, if you’re supposed to be with your family, I don’t know why mine wasn’t here.”

“Oh… Oh Anthony.” Ezra stroked his hair, petting him as if he were a cat. “You know your father isn’t allowed to go anywhere right now, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess, ” Tony hated his father and was glad he was in prison, but sometimes he missed him too. He didn’t like feeling that way; it made him angry at himself. That was only part of what was bothering him now though. “My mom could come. She’s not locked up anywhere. She’s in a house. Your mother told me so.”

Ezra worried his lip and wrung his hands together as he tried to settle on his words. He did that a lot and Tony assumed it was because he had so many more words to choose from than most people. “It’s true that your mother has more freedom of movement, but she’s not yet able to just visit. She’s… well I don’t know quite how she’s doing just now. No one tells me these things. But she is working on getting better; I know that much. It’s just right now she needs to make sure she stays in place, in a situation where she can focus on herself and her needs. A big gathering with a lot of people, particularly people who might have known her family when she was growing up… it’s a lot of stress she doesn’t need right now.”

“ _I’m_ not a lot of stress…” Tony shoved his cheek hard against the mattress and stared at the wall. He wasn’t going to cry.

“Oh, my dear child, come here.” But Tony didn’t. If he let Ezra hug him now he’d start weeping, and he didn’t want to. He just rolled over completely, so his back was to Ezra, and got very quiet.

He talked a lot more than he used to, but sometimes it was more comfortable to say nothing at all. Ezra didn’t ask him to do or say anything else, but he didn’t leave either.

Not like everyone else did.

* * *

Tony dragged himself through the rest of Friday and on Saturday he slept late. By the time he awoke, Ezra was gone, his bed already neatly made. He didn’t particularly want to get up, but the door had been left open a crack and he could hear the sounds of breakfast down in the kitchen. That, and the smell of bacon filling the house, made his belly rumble.

Still barefoot, he padded downstairs to find the Clark family gathered around the kitchen table, half way through pancakes. They all seemed happy to see him, Elijah patted the empty chair, Edith hopped up to fill a plate for him, and Ezra just smiled. He did that a lot when he saw Tony.

“How you feeling today, little guy?” Elijah asked as Tony settled himself down.

They were all watching him too closely, so Tony took refuge in silence. He shrugged and stabbed a fork into the breakfast set before him. He’d hoped that they would go back to whatever they were talking about before he entered the room, but they didn’t. Edith and Elijah glanced at each other while Ezra fiddled with the napkin in his lap. Something was wrong. Something they didn’t want to say.

Tony panicked. “Are you going to get rid of me!?”

There were three looks of shock and just as many ‘no’s. Edith, who hadn’t sat back down yet, wrapped him in a hug and hushed him. “You poor thing, of course not. What on earth made you think that?”

Tony didn’t want to cry so he stabbed his pancake harder and didn’t look at Ezra. “I dunno.”

They were all glancing at each other again. He wished they’d just come out and say it.

Edith did. “Yesterday you seemed a little down so, I asked Ezra what was wrong, and he told us what you had said about missing your mother.”

Tony scrunched up his face and glared at Ezra. Just because he might be Tony’s favorite person didn’t mean he got to go telling secrets.

“I’m sorry! I wanted to be able to give you more information and anyway, we were all so worried about you!” Ezra’s eyes were very big and blue and sad. “Don’t be angry.”

Tony stopped glaring.

“Besides, if he hadn’t talked to us we wouldn’t be able to help,” Elijah chimed in. “Edith called the Home where your mom is staying.”

He hadn’t expected that. He grew very quiet and stared up at Edith. She still had her arms around him. Her expression was very soft. “They allow visitors on Saturdays. If you’d like to go, we can visit today. You mom said she’d love to see you.”

Now that he could, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. What home only allowed visitors on certain days? And what would his mother be like? She’d been so shaky and skinny and strange the last time he’d seen her. It was scary.

“I’ll go with you, Tony,” Ezra volunteered. “You won’t be alone.”

So Tony swallowed, he nodded and two hours later he, Ezra, and Edith were in the car.

“It sounds like a really lovely place. Your mother said they started decorating for Christmas yesterday just like we did.” Edith kept glancing at Tony in the rearview mirror as she babbled. He stared at his sneakers.

“What sort of a place is it, exactly?” Ezra asked. “You said it wasn’t a rehabilitation center.”

“No. It’s kind of midway point. A safe place for people who’ve gone through rehabilitation to start getting their lives back on track. So everyone there has had similar struggles and they can support each other when its hard and celebrate each other when things go well. And there’s a couple staff members too, I think, who help with therapy and job assistance.” Her eyes flicked from Tony to Ezra. “But it’s still a lot of hard work that you can avoid by saying no to drugs in the first place.”

“Yes. I had gathered that. Thank you.” Ezra’s words were extra clipped.

But the conversation ended there, as the car slowed to a stop. Tony pressed his nose against the cold glass of the window and peered at the building before him. It just looked like any old house, tucked away into a crowded neighborhood. The only thing to differentiate it from its neighbors was a small sign nailed to the railing of the front porch. Tony squinted at it, but that didn’t make it easier to read.

Once they’d all gotten out of the car, he tugged on Ezra’s sleeve and pointed.

“What is it, Anthony?” Ezra asked. Tony couldn’t tell if he was pretending not to understand just to get him to talk or if he was legitimately confused.

Tony mumbled. “Whasitsay?”

“Oh, it says, ‘Second Chances House’.” He took the moment to take Tony by the hand, so that they could follow Edith together up to the front porch. He wished Ezra hadn’t. With them walking together it made it harder for Tony to drag his feet or escape back to the safety of the car.

He held his breath when Edith knocked on the door, but it wasn’t his mother who answered, it was two other women. Both their eyes went wide with surprise, but then they looked at Tony and smiled. The older of the two laughed.

“I’ll go get her,” she said to the other and then disappeared up a staircase behind them.

The woman she’d left shook Edith’s hand. “Hi, I’m the social worker here. The whole house is excited about your visit. We’ve all heard so much about Tony.” She waved to him and he frowned back. He didn’t like social workers very much. “Wow. Maddy wasn’t just bragging when she said you had the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen. Look at that color!”

He tried to hide inside his shirt.

But then there were footsteps on the stairs and Tony looked up to see his mother gazing at him. Only, she didn’t look like he remembered her. The last time he’d seen her she’d been thinner, paler, and more nervous than he’d ever known her to be, but he’d never known her not to be those things either. He’d never seen her with color in her face or a shine in her eyes. There’d never been a fullness to her cheeks or confidence in the way she held herself. Now she didn’t seem quite like his mother at all.

But before he could think about that she came bolting down the stairs, passed the social worker, and straight toward him. Ezra let go and Tony floundered for his hand, just before his mother dropped to her knees and wrapped him in an embrace.

“Tony. Oh, look at you! Look how big you’re getting!” She was laughing and crying at the same time, and the tears rolled off his coat. Every second it seemed she’d lean back just to look at him and then pull him in for a hug once more. “I’m sorry, Tony. I’m sorry you had to… But look how good your doing. You’ve been so brave!”

Then she was looking at him again, waiting for him to say something or maybe just to hug her back. But he just watched her, studied her, and wondered how she’d gotten to be so happy when he wasn’t even there.

She didn’t linger on it, but swallowed a bit of sadness and got to her feet. She turned to Edith. “Thanks for bringing him. I haven’t wanted to… reach out. I’ve talked to his case worker, you know, and she told me how good he’s been doing. I didn’t want to screw anything up…” She bit her lip before forcing a smile, “Anyway, why don’t I give you guys the tour?”

The moment she turned her back, Tony grabbed for Ezra’s hand, feeling his way closer until he clung to the older boy’s arm. Though Ezra had more difficulty walking, he let Tony hang on him without complaint.

It was cozy and bright inside the house. Christmas decorations were already up and twinkling on every wall. It would have been a large home for a single family, but to fit its current number of occupants there was a little too much furniture everywhere. This was true in the dining room where Tony had to let go of Ezra long enough for them to get around the table and up in Maddy’s room which she shared with another woman. Two adult sized beds, two dressers, and two desks didn’t leave much space for anything else. Still, Maddy beamed as she showed it off.

“It’s not much, I know. But it’s mine, for now anyway. I think I’ve done an alright job making it feel like home.” She plucked something off her bedside table and held it out in Tony’s direction. “See, I’ve got a picture, right here, of you.”

Tony tried to hide behind Ezra, but the older boy stepped forward and dragged him unwillingly along. The Tony in the photograph didn’t look much like the one he saw in the mirror anymore, though it hadn’t even been a year ago when it was taken. He’d been paler then, with fewer freckles and much shorter than even twelve months could account for. He was getting healthier food at the Clarks and more of it than he ever had before. He’d been shooting up like a weed since he moved in.

Tony didn’t want to look at the sickly boy behind the glass. He hung his head.

“Why don’t we go down to the living room?” Maddy asked abruptly. “There’s some hot chocolate powder in the kitchen. I’ll make some for everybody.”

“That sounds lovely!” Ezra agreed. “Tony, doesn’t that sound just wonderful?”

It did not. They’d seen the house, he’d seen his mother, and now he wanted to go. Cocoa meant staying longer.

When they had settled in the living room, Ezra and Tony sitting on the floor, Maddy and Edith got to talking. It was boring adult stuff mostly, jobs and money and houses. For some reason, Ezra chatted right along with them, as though at age eleven he had something to contribute. That left Tony with nothing to do but avoid looking at everyone while he traced patterns into the long piling of the living room carpet.

“It was hard to find work, yeah. But Mr. Rossini, he’s my boss, he lost his son to an overdose. He _wanted_ to hire someone going through recovery. And he’s a sweet old man. He’s been really supportive.”

“Had you ever worked at a garden center before this?” Ezra asked. The mothers both smiled at him when he talked, like they thought it was sort of funny how comfortably he could participate in the conversation.

“It’s my first job ever, actually,” Maddy said proudly. Tony frowned and twisted tufts of carpet together. “I know that sounds ridiculous but… Ben would never let me have one.”

Before the name of Tony’s father could weigh too heavily on the conversation, Edith jumped in. “Do you enjoy working there?”

“Totally. Rossini’s Garden Center is just beautiful. And I didn’t get the job until a couple weeks ago, so I haven’t even gotten to see it when most of the plants are at their best. This time of year they don’t do as much business. People are only coming in for evergreens and poinsettias right now.” She pointed to the front window where a row of pots overflowing with bright red flowers sat in a line. “He gave me those to take care of, so I can be more helpful when customers ask about them. That and he thought they could cheer up the house. We need it sometimes, you know? But there’s more than really fit in here. Five is too many for this space, particularly when we have Meeting and the whole house has to fit in here.”

The afternoon went on like that, with boring grown up chatter. Maddy asked all about the church, how Elijah was, what the boys were learning in school. She kept looking at Tony, as though hoping he might come up and sit beside her and talk. There had been a time when she was the only one on earth he spoke to, but now he was silent.

Occasionally they would all be interrupted by the arrival of a housemate who wanted to be introduced and Maddy would proudly point him out and they would cluck over his eyes while he tried to hide his face in Ezra’s shoulder. Then they would giggle about how bashful he was and walk away.

He was relieved when, at last, the social worker popped in to tell Maddy she was on kitchen duty that night, and her guests really ought to be heading home. Before they could escape, however, his mother gave two of the flower pots to them.

“For the church,” she said, “to say thank you.”

Then they were out on the lawn, close enough that Tony could touch the car, but now everyone was hugging and the door was still locked.

“Thanks again, for taking care of him. I’ll never be able to pay you back for this.”

“We’re happy to have him,” Edith assured Maddy, clasping her hands. “And it’s great to see how well you’re doing. I know this recovery stuff can be a little up and down, but if you can keep at it, I’m sure you’ll be ready to take care of him again soon enough.”

Then his mother turned to Ezra and gave him a big hug too. “I hear I should be thanking you most of all. Tony’s case worker told me you’re a huge reason he’s doing so well.”

Ezra patted her shoulder, “No need to thank me, my dear. He’s absolutely worth it.”

Then Tony was the only one left. He leaned his whole back against the car so that he’d be harder to embrace.

“That’s alright, Tony. If you don’t want a hug, we don’t have to. But,” Maddy choked up. “It was great to see you, bud. Remember Mommy loves you.”

Tony didn’t even nod.

* * *

The whole rest of the day he was silent and frustrated. He found a big stick and smacked it against the side of the swing set until it shattered all over the ground. He stabbed at his dinner hundreds of times, while eating barely any of it. And when bedtime came around, he stomped on each step in hopes that the noise would satisfy him. It didn’t.

Of course the Clarks had tried to ask him about his feelings, but they hadn’t pushed and he hadn’t spoken. It wasn’t as though he would’ve been able to explain it to them anyway. Tony knew he was angry, but he couldn’t have put his reasons why into words even if he wanted to.

After furiously brushing his teeth and yanking on his pajamas, he crawled into bed and punched his pillow. It felt good, so he was still doing it when Ezra came in to get ready for bed himself.

“I know they don’t want me to say anything, but I think you’re being horrendously unfair,” Ezra said flatly. “Your mother is working unbelievably hard to turn her life around. She’s doing it, in no small part, for you. She must have been broken hearted to see you so cold. Would you stop hitting that and speak to me?”

Ezra was good at talking to adults because he talked like one himself. Tony didn’t mind that about him, he even liked it mostly. Except, at times he seemed to forget that Tony wasn’t like that too. He’d talk to him like he was a grown up and expect things of him that Tony wasn’t capable of. If he wanted a logical conversation about feelings he wasn’t going to get one now.

Tony hit the pillow harder and more loudly, using the flat of his palm to make the noise even more annoying. When Ezra rolled his eyes and sighed, Tony did something with his hand that his father used to do when he was mad at people. He didn’t know what was wrong with that finger, but he got the general idea of what it meant.

“Anthony!” Ezra said with a shocked little gasp that would have made Tony smile on some other day. Instead he seized the pillow and buried his head beneath it so that he didn’t have to look at the world. Ezra made a few more attempts to get him to speak, before giving up and getting ready for bed.

There was no reading aloud that night, but when Ezra finally turned off his bedside lamp, Tony was still awake. He stayed that way even when he heard the Clarks come up the stairs and the light in the hallway went out too. Yesterday, he’d done little more than sleep. Tonight, he couldn’t do it all.

He felt uncomfortable in his own skin, like his anger was creeping along beneath it, burning him from the inside. If he lay still any longer he would burst. Not sure what his plan was, he climbed out of bed, slipped from the room, and then crept downstairs. The heat was kept low when they slept, and he was already chilly even before he left the house. Tony did not want to stay here but he’d freeze if he tried to walk too far. As he pulled his coat on over his pajamas he caught sight of Pastor Clark’s keys in a basket by the door. This late the church would be completely empty.

He grabbed them, then disappeared out into the night, his coat and anger only doing so much to keep him warm. The cold had done a number on his fury by the time he reached the sanctuary doors. He was feeling calmer and a bit sleepy now. Perhaps he would just curl up in one of the pews and sleep here. Let Ezra find him missing in the morning; it would serve him right for saying Tony was unfair.

The church doors were heavy, but he managed to push one open by leaning on it with his whole weight. Tony stumbled inside then stood on his tiptoes to flick on the light. When he glanced toward the pulpit, his rage flamed once more.

Edith had put the flowers there, the ones his mother had cared for, up at the front of the church. Tony _hated_ them. He didn’t want to see them, didn’t want to think about them. He wanted them gone. He ran down the aisle, snake scarf flapping out behind him, and grabbed for one of the plants.

He tore off the petals, ripped stems in half, dug in the dirt until soil and roots were strewn on the floor. He knocked over the pot for good measure before descending on the other and repeating the destruction there. When it was all over, he didn’t feel any better. There was nothing else to rip or destroy, just the sturdy wooden pulpit and the beautiful grand piano. That was the only thing he liked about church. He’d always wanted to play on it.

There was no one to stop him now, so he scrambled up onto the cushioned bench beside it and laid his filthy fingers on the keys. He slammed down on them, producing a horrific cacophony of noise, which sounded a little how he felt. So he hit them again, moving down toward the side of the piano that made all the low notes. That was even better, even closer to his heart. Again and again he wailed on them, reveling in the reprieve that only those sounds could produce.

He might have been at it for hours or just seconds as far as he knew, when Ezra and his parents burst through the front door, all three pale with fear. Tony watched as they looked around, taking in his path of destruction before their eyes settled on him. No one said anything. Tony began to weep.

He hadn’t cried once that day, but all the sudden he could not stop. He’d been so busy being angry that he hadn’t noticed he was sad too. Ezra rushed to him, pulling Tony into his arms. Ezra was warm and a little fat, so his hugs were always calming.

“It’s alright, Anthony. It’s going to be okay. You just cry. Take as much time as you need.”

So he did. He wept as Edith settled down beside him, and when Elijah stroked his head. Eventually he subsided into hiccups and gasps, while Ezra patted his back and murmured gentle things. “Do you want to talk about it at all?”

“I… She…” He would not be able to say much. He knew as soon as he began to speak that the tears would wash over him again, but he tried anyway because he thought he had words for it now, “She’s better without me. Nobody needs me!”

It echoed around the empty sanctuary and Tony burst into tears once more. He cried until he was utterly exhausted and he had to lean on Ezra to hold himself up. No one asked him anymore questions, but they stayed. Elijah quietly disposing of the flowers Tony had destroyed, Ezra holding him close, and Edith playing a quiet song on the piano.

His eyes began to droop as he watched her fingers dance across the keys. Gently they flowed, now on creamy white, now on stark black. How odd that the same instrument that had screamed his anger to the room could sing so tenderly too. He watched, he listened, and before long he slumbered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weird thing about this chapter is, objectively, most of what happens is positive, but Tony's feelings are a bit too big for him right now and he doesn't know what to do with them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! It's a Saturday chapter!
> 
> This might have been my favorite chapter to write but it, admittedly, does jack all to advance the plot. Due to that, the fact that this fic just surpassed the number of kudos of the first one at half the chapter count, and the fact that 2020 is made entirely of stress and we could all use a little Christmas right this very minute, I decided to post this one as a special. 
> 
> Chapter 7 will be up on Wednesday like usual.

December 1997

Aziraphale sat, head in hands, at the center of a holiday explosion. He could not have moved an inch without rustling red and green construction paper, bending golden pipe cleaners, or upsetting a vial of glitter glue. There were paints and markers, costumes and thread. That was to say nothing of the unfrosted wreath shaped biscuits waiting in the kitchen, eager to be decorated when he found the time.

But there wasn’t any; he’d stretched himself too thin. He’d offered to help with props and costumes for the Christmas ’97 Nativity Play, but he also needed to practice his choreography for _Raising the Barre’s_ holiday dance recital, finish his contribution for the Middle School bake sale, and figure out what gifts he should give to everyone in the family.

With a desperate sigh he tried to catalogue what was left to do just on this current project. He’d already made the posters for the play, repaired the halos, and swaddled the plastic Jesus. That left the paint touch ups for all three of the kings’ gifts, sticking fresh jewels to their crowns, and making a whole new star. That alone would take forever and he knew he wouldn’t be any good at it. He hadn’t been two thousand years ago when he’d had flame and holy light to work with. He couldn’t imagine he’d be much improved with cardboard and glitter.

He’d start with that then; get it out of the way. Edith wouldn’t tell him if he’d done a rubbish job anyway. He reached for the scissors and the large piece of cardboard, little sighs of discontent escaping as he stretched.

“How come you don’t tell ‘em that you need help?” He glanced up to see Anthony watching him from across the coffee table.

The poor child was doing well today, had been for nearly a week, but only because Aziraphale and the Clarks had been treating him with kid gloves. As soon as schools and businesses were open the Monday after his outburst, Edith had been on the phone with Dr. Amanda and Elijah with Roger Sherman Elementary. There had been extra appointments with the therapist, additional sessions with the school psychologist and Anthony had seemed to cheer up some as one week turned into the next. He was, however, flatly refusing to see his mother. He had said as much to every adult who asked. For the moment, at least, they’d all agreed not to push him.

Just now he sat contentedly in his own Christmas mess, surrounded by piles of holiday specials on video cassette. He’d worked his way through three or four of them already that afternoon. The Clarks had said that he could. They were both busy in the church that day and had left Aziraphale in charge. They figured Anthony would be easier to tend to if he were distracted.

The last film, about a mutant flying deer, had just come to an end, and so Anthony watched Aziraphale now, puzzled by his distress.

“Well I made a promise and I wouldn’t want to go back on it. I said I would help with these things and I will.”

“But you’re sad.”

“Not sad. Just stressed.”

“So tell them you need help.”

“I can’t. I… I don’t want to be a burden,” Aziraphale said, trying to keep his voice and hands steady as he finished cutting out the shape of a star. Anthony lay his chin on the coffee table, watching like some forlorn dog. When Aziraphale said nothing more, he shrugged and turned back to select the next film.

The same commercial that had played before the previous two features, repeated itself, imploring Aziraphale to, “Share the magic of America’s best loved holiday tales this Christmas Season.” Anthony, who’d watched the last two with his face nearly pressed against the screen, climbed out from behind his wall of VHS tapes and crept through the craft supplies to settle by Aziraphale’s side.

“I could help, angel.”

He said it simply, without any fanfare or expectation. Aziraphale bit his lip. “Are you certain? Mother says you haven’t shown much interest in getting involved with the play. She said you don’t seem to like Sunday School very much.”

He’d panicked, months ago, when the Clarks had first brought Anthony into the church. When he first watched those little feet cross the threshold, he half expected them to start smoking. But they didn’t. Still, Aziraphale asked Edith on occasion, how he was faring in his Sunday School lessons with the Kindergarten and First Grade group. She said he never spoke. For that hour a week he was the same child he’d been when they first brought him home.

“I _don’t_ like it. It’s not like regular school; I don’t think they _want_ you to ask questions. And besides, sometimes the lessons make my head fuzzy.”

“They what?”

“It’s like… my brain itches or like I feel like I heard it before only I didn’t. My teacher, at regular school, said that’s called something. It’s um… it’s Day Job View. I think.”

“De ja vu?”

“Yeah that! It makes my brain all fuzzy.” Anthony frowned. “But even without that I wouldn’t like it. I’d like the stories better if the adults didn’t act like they were real.”

There were too many paths down which Aziraphale wanted to take this conversation. “You don’t believe any of it?”

Anthony shook his head. “Nope. People coming back to life and splitting up oceans and stuff? Any other story like that and grown ups think it’s silly. Why are church one’s different? Anyway, if God is real I’m not sure I like him very much. Why’s he gotta go killing first borns and drowning people?”

He rubbed at his hair as though he could remove an unpleasant sensation from his mind. Aziraphale spoke softly. “Well, if you don’t believe in any of it, why do you… why do you call me ‘angel’ sometimes?”

Anthony shrugged. “I dunno. I mean you were dressed like one when I met you and you helped me. And you were nice to me. That’s what angels would do if they _were_ real. And I’d rather have you than a real one anyway.”

Aziraphale put a hand to his heart and made a valiant attempt not to cry. Anthony noticed and huffed with embarrassment, “Anyway, I don’t wanna help because I want to be in the show. I wanna help ‘cause you need it. I can decorate the star, if you want. I’m pretty good in art class.”

Wordlessly, Aziraphale handed the cardboard star over and tried to focus on the crowns. He couldn’t. That offer had done just what Anthony had been complaining about a moment ago, it had given Aziraphale an intense feeling of having lived all this before.

* * *

December Year 1

Aziraphale paced his rented room in Bethlehem, ringing his hands and sighing heavily. He was accomplishing nothing, and in front of him sat a stark reminder of what he ought to be doing. Gabriel had visited all of three days ago, looking, somehow, more smugly handsome than usual.

Aziraphale had been set up in Rome at the time, trying his best to exert some positive influence and also enjoying the wine. He’d known, with some vague detail, that Very Important Things were happening in Judaea but he had not been roped into any of that. This was an honor well above his current rank. No less than Gabriel himself had been charged with annunciating the child’s birth to his mother. When Aziraphale tried to picture it, he only ended up pitying the poor woman.

But no one much cared what he thought, and so he was surprised when he found Gabriel at his front door with a list of tasks and orders to pack up for Bethlehem.

“We’ll be back when the child is born of course,” Gabriel had explained. “The whole host is getting ready, but until then there’s a few things you need to get done. There’s just the rooms for the family, some general blessings to ease their passage, some announcing to shepherds, oh, and we’re going to send up a special star as kind of a message. Got the supplies right here, so you can get on that.”

So here he was, job only partially complete, and too much left to do. The child would be born two days hence and he hadn’t even gotten the chance to stop by Jerusalem and pay his taxes yet. A knock on the door set his teeth on edge. This was the last thing he needed just now.

“I beg your pardon but I’m quite busy at the moment, if you could come back some other time, I would…” He trailed off in shock when he saw who was before him. “Crawly!”

When had he seen him last? It had been centuries certainly, but Crawly looked very much the same as he had the last time they’d met. Long red hair curling down to frame his face. He grinned, probably pleased to have caught Aziraphale off guard, and slithered his way into the room.

“Thought I sensed you, angel. What are you doing in this backwater anyway? It’s not very interesting.” He peered around the house with interest, but his slitted eyes soon found their way back to Aziraphale.

“What is this? Some kind of spy mission, I’m sure.” Aziraphale folded his arms firmly. “Come to find out about our plans concerning the holy child, I suppose.”

“There’s a holy child?”

His wily face went briefly guileless and Aziraphale cursed himself. “Did you really not know? Oh, now I’ve done it. I just can’t do anything right, these days.”

“Woah, hey, angel. This wasn’t a spy mission, honest. Just curiosity, plain and simple. I won’t go tattling, probably just create extra work for me anyway.”

Aziraphale exhaled. “Well, I suppose that’s one thing not gone belly up then.” 

“What’s got you so down on yourself?”

“Management has given me more responsibility than I’ve had since… well, since the bit with the sword if you must know. I’m supposed to be making sure the birth goes smoothly, easing the journey here for his mother and making sure they’ve got a place to stay. I already made a mess of that first bit. I tried to get her and her husband a pair of magnificent steeds, but there was this whole kerfuffle and somehow it’s just one donkey now.”

Crawly sucked air in through his teeth. “I can see the problem there”

“And there’re so many people trying to get to Jerusalem to pay their taxes that the rooms in every inn keep filling up. I’ve been stopping by every inn each day and buying up the rooms that are available for the next week, but they won’t give them to me until the current inhabitants move on. Still, there should be more than enough space for the child and whatever followers arrive to rest in comfort. I’m so worried something else will go wrong.”

“What else is there?”

With a wavering hand, Aziraphale pointed to an unassuming box that sat in the middle of his unneeded bed. Crawly stepped forward, reaching out, before Aziraphale grabbed his wrist. “I’m not sure you ought to touch that. Gabriel gave them to me. It’s supplies for star making. There’s supposed to be a glorious one to announce the child’s arrival. But I’m a guardian; I was never part of any creative department. It’s going to be a disaster.”

Crawly kept staring at the box, looking for all the world like a snake in a charmer’s basket. Despite Aziraphale’s warning he touched it, movements oddly tender, and opened it to peer inside. The contents shone out, hitting the planes of his face and the ringlets of his hair in such a way that Aziraphale became suddenly aware of just how beautiful he was. Then Crawly snapped the box shut and was silent. Feeling, somehow, that it would be shameful to interrupt whatever he was thinking at the moment, Aziraphale stayed quiet as well.

Then he finally spoke, “You know, I could make it for you.”

Aziraphale spluttered, this had to be some sort of trap. “I’m in enough trouble already without you playing tricks.”

“I’m serious, angel. I… I used to do stars. It’s not exactly difficult. Could be… could be fun to give it a go again. See if I still got it. It’s not like I’m ever gonna get the chance some other way.”

Against his better judgement Aziraphale agreed. He told himself later that it was because the stress had gotten to him, but it had more to do with the look on Crawly’s face.

* * *

The child had been born. The earth received her king. Men their songs had employed. The fields and floods, rocks, hill and plains had repeated the sounding joy. Aziraphale had heralded it all to the shepherds. His heart had been full, so briefly with pride, but now he sat, curled up beneath the sky outside Bethlehem’s walls cursing himself.

A pair of black sandals came into view and then Crawly settled down beside him. “What’s got you so down? Things must’ve gone well. It’s so holy out tonight I can hardly breathe. ‘Slike when there’s too much humidity.”

“It went well in general, I suppose, but it didn’t go well for me. Oh, Gabriel is going to be furious! I’m certain to be demoted again.” Fiddling with the hem of his robe did not provide much relief from his anxieties.

“What’s happened then?”

“I muddled up the inns! I left before they arrived, you see. I wanted to be ready for heralding with the shepherds. I neglected to tell a single innkeeper what I’d rented all the rooms for! So of course there wasn’t any place left for them to stay. The Holy Child was born in a barn, Crawly! Because of me!” Aziraphale looked at him, pleading. “Could you just leave? I don’t need anyone gloating.”

“You see me gloating? I’m not gloating. You know what your problem is, angel? You haven’t learned how to handle management, that’s what. So the kid was born in a barn, don’t tell them it was an accident. Tell them it was a plan.”

Aziraphale glared at him. “And what good would that do? That’d be even worse!”

“No, you just got to spin it. Say that, er…” He paused, brow crinkled as he thought. His eyes darted back and forth, though he was only looking at the sand two feet in front of them. Then he grinned. “Got it. Tell them it’s symbolic. Tell them that since this kid is supposed to be born for the good of the world, or whatever, that he had to come from humble beginnings. That he’ll better represent the everyday people instead of just kings or shit like that.”

Aziraphale gazed at him in wonder. He really shouldn’t be thinking about how brilliant the demon was. “You know, that could actually work!”

“See. It doesn’t always matter what you do, just how you explain it to the boss.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, feeling altogether too fond of the creature beside him. “And thank you for dropping off the star yesterday. It’s a shame they didn’t end up using it.”

“What do you mean they didn’t?”

He sounded offended, and Aziraphale tried to be gentle as he pointed to the light above them. “When Gabriel came to pick it up yesterday, he told me a few other angels had made stars of their own and that the Almighty would be choosing among them.”

“Did you look inside the box before you gave it over?”

“Well no, but-”

“Then why don’t you think that one’s mine?”

Aziraphale looked up. The star that hung above them, now thousands of times the size it had first been, was the most gorgeous he had ever seen. It was like a diamond with a million sides, each casting out lights of silver and gold woven together with light. Spots of refracted color could be seen, but only when you looked at it just right. He’d assumed it had been made by a master crafter, not a demon picking up a hobby again for the first time in four million years.

“Is it yours?”

“Yeah,” Crawly said huffily. “So don’t act surprised when your boss comes around praising you for it.”

“Oh, Crawly. I’d no idea you were so talented. It’s simply breath taking!”

The demon stood abruptly and kicked at the sand. “Yeah well. I should get going anyway. The air here is too thick with holiness. I’ll be seeing you around, angel. I always do.”

Aziraphale watched him go. They’d tricked Gabriel, that was obvious, but he could not imagine that they’d fooled the Lord. She’d handled the star. She’d placed it in the heavens. Had she not been able to sense the truth of its creator? And if she had, why had she chosen it anyway?

* * *

December 1997

_“Your gift Little Drummer Boy, given out of the simple desperation of a pure love is the one favored above all.”_

It had been half an hour and Aziraphale and Anthony were hard at work, the Christmas Special still playing in the background. A Claymation sheep had just returned to life thanks to a child’s love and Anthony had just finished his creation.

The cardboard star was shoved under Aziraphale’s nose with a proud pronouncement. “I finished it!”

It was an admirable job for a first grader. He’d not gone overboard with the glitter, and he’d mixed together the gold and silver flakes with a variety of paints to create something far from generic. Aziraphale took it in his hands and gazed at it lovingly, remembering another star from two millennia prior.

The face before him was not precisely the same one he’d seen that day. There were more freckles now, the cheeks were rounder, there were fewer angles. That and it was covered in paint. The memories too were different, and large portions of the personality, but the heart was the same. The bits that mattered.

He rested the cardboard star on the table and wrapped Anthony in his arms. “Thank you, my dear boy.”

“Ah, come on, angel. It’s not that big a deal. Don’t be all mushy.” Anthony squirmed, but he giggled too, so Aziraphale squeezed him until the sound turned into a full laugh.

Beside them, the film played on, reaching its conclusion.

_“More powerful, more beautiful by far than all the eons of sadness and cruelty and desolation which had come before was that one tiny crystalline second of laughter.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole much of the flashback plot from Neil Gaiman, who was asked about the possibility of a Christmas special and responded by saying it wasn't possible but then mused on possible premises anyway: https://neil-gaiman.tumblr.com/post/188009708391/hey-i-know-this-is-short-notice-but-could-you
> 
> Also, in case you do did not grow up considering the Rankin-Bass Christmas specials an integral part of the holiday season, here is a link to The Little Drummer Boy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LMIW7HR2LOo
> 
> I'm not going to say it's /good/, but I adored it as a child. Also, the last ten or so minutes are better than the rest of it (because it really shouldn't have been half an hour and the first part includes characters that would definitely get that 'outdated cultural depictions' warning on Disney+).


	7. Chapter 7

January 1998

The world looks very different from the center of a circular clothing rack. It was private here, the sounds of after Christmas clearance shoppers muffled by a wall of reasonably priced dresses. Edith hadn’t realized that Tony had slipped away from her just yet, so he settled down to wait in the comforting darkness.

There wasn’t much to do inside his fortress, so he wiggled his front teeth to pass the time. They’d been threatening to come out since the start of break, but despite Tony’s best efforts he hadn’t made much progress. That and Ezra kept getting moody when he’d stick his fingers in his mouth and then touch stuff in their room. You’d think he couldn’t remember losing his own first tooth. 

Before long the sharp scrape of metal hanger on metal rack caused Tony to peer up into an unwelcome stream of light. He blinked, eyes readjusting, until he saw Edith frowning down at him.

“Tony, I couldn’t find you! What were you thinking hiding in there?”

He shrugged and climbed out of his nest before she could ask it of him. “I’m bored.”

“Well, bored isn’t an excuse for frightening me. Stay right here where I can see you.”

He rolled his eyes but did as she asked, remaining glued to her side as she compared price tags and tutted over the cost of things these days. Tony wondered if his teeth would fall out if he punched himself in the face.

After what seemed like a million years but was more likely fifteen minutes they rode the escalator down so that Edith could make her purchases. The escalator was the most exciting thing that had happened on their trip, so Tony made the most of it. He put the rubber toe of his Goosebumps sneakers against the side to see if he could make the entire thing come to a halt. When that failed, he tried to climb on the railing to see if he could ride that down instead.

Tony froze in the middle of lifting himself up, and stared at the approaching floor below. There was a piano, just like the one in the church, all black and shiny with a lid that stuck up. It seemed a funny place to have a man play a piano, right there in the middle of a department store. Tony was so transfixed that he didn’t realize that he’d reached the bottom of the escalator. He stumbled forward and almost fell on his face.

He sort of wished he hadn’t caught himself. He might have knocked his teeth out.

“Oh, honey are you alright? You almost went down.”

“ ‘M fine. Could I watch the piano?”

Edith glanced from the closest cash register and back again, apparently estimating how far away she could go without him getting in trouble. Eventually she nodded. “Don’t move from this spot. I’ll come get you when I’m done.”

He agreed, and happily leaned against a pillar where he could watch the man’s fingers on the keys. Perhaps, if he watched close enough, he could remember how the song went and play it for Ezra later. It seemed like the kind of music he’d enjoy.

Tony wasn’t ready to go when Edith came back to get him. He clung to the pillar and pouted at her. She glanced at her watch. “Sorry, Tony. We’ve got to grab some groceries before we get Ezra from his appointment. You wouldn’t want us to be late to pick him up?”

He shook his head and wiggled a tooth in acceptance. He followed close at her heels, only taking her hand when she insisted so that they could safely cross the parking lot.

He stood, hands buried in the warmth of his pockets as Edith loaded dresses into the trunk of the car. There were a lot of them, more than he could imagine Edith needing. “How come you got so many?”

“They’re for donations. Nordstrom is a pretty high end place, but with the sales right now I figured I could get something nice and new for each of the ladies at your mom’s house. Sometimes, having something new that’s all your own can make you feel a lot better about yourself.”

Tony glowered. The afternoon had already been miserable what with waiting for Ezra to get out of therapy, this made it twenty times worse. He knew Edith was still talking to his mom, but he didn’t want to hear about it. He slouched uncooperatively as Edith buckled him in.

“I know this hasn’t been any fun for you, but you wouldn’t have enjoyed just sitting around waiting for Ezra either. You always get grumpy about that no matter what.”

“ ‘M not grumpy,” Tony grumped.

“I’ll let you pick something out at the grocery store, would that help?” Edith asked as she settled into the driver’s seat.

“A toy?”

“I was thinking more like a piece of fruit.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Fruit?”

“You got more than enough toys for Christmas.” This was inarguable. He’d gotten more toys for Christmas than he’d ever owned in his entire life. He wasn’t actually sure what he’d do with another one, but it seemed more exciting than produce. What he really wanted was Ezra back. Tuesday afternoon was one of the worst parts of the week.

The more Tony thought about how much he hated Tuesday, the more he thought of all the other things that made him miserable. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t play in the clothing rack, or listen to the piano. It wasn’t fair that Ezra had to leave him for therapy and dance class and school. It wasn’t fair that his mother was getting nice things when she didn’t even want him. Tony wanted to break something. Or cry. Or cry while he broke something.

He kicked the empty seat in front of him and growled.

He sort of hoped Edith would yell at him. If she yelled at him he could yell back and that might make him feel better, but she was just watching him in the rear view mirror. Tony glared.

“Do you want to talk about how you’re feeling?”

“No.” He kicked the seat with both feet this time. Then did it twice more for good measure.

“That’s not a good way to express yourself.” She was too calm and she talked to him like he was a baby.

“I.” Kick. “Don’t.” Kick. “Care.”

Everyone talked to him like a fragile baby. Everyone but Ezra. He was tired of feelings charts and ‘I’ statements and counting to ten. Sometimes the best way to describe your feelings was to kick a chair until the mall dust from your sneakers left patterns on the back of it.

Edith seemed uncertain what to do. She sat, hands grasping and ungrasping the steering wheel, and did not tell him to stop. Tony kicked the chair harder, one foot then the next, fast as he could. He could not have said why, but he wanted her to get angry with him.

When she finally made a decision, however, she simply reached for the radio dial and flipped it on. Tony stilled as she cycled through stations, coasting past rock and country and car dealership commercials before settling on one of the classical stations Ezra liked.

Tony preferred songs with words in them, but he didn’t mind this sort of thing either. There were a lot of pieces to it all working together, and it was fun to try and pick the different sounds out like that guy explained in _Fantasia_.

Edith began to drive, saying nothing more, just letting Tony listen until he didn’t want to break things anymore. It was not until they stopped in the grocery parking lot that she turned to him and spoke again.

“Tony, would you like it if I started teaching you how to play the piano?”

If there had not been enough words for his anger, there were certainly not enough words for this. All he could do was smile widely and nod.

* * *

Aziraphale was very much enjoying his therapy appointment. On his last visit, just before the holidays, Dr. Amanda had tea ready for him. The gesture had been very much appreciated, although the substance wasn’t. She hadn’t known how to prepare it. This time she’d provided him with the bags and hot water and let him show her how to make a proper cuppa. He felt wonderfully grown up lounging back with a warm beverage and simply chatting. It was a relief.

“What would you say your favorite part of this Christmas was?” Dr. Amanda asked him. She was leaning back too, notepad nearly forgotten. He hadn’t said much to warrant note taking today.

Although he might yet.

Aziraphale looked at her with what could have been considered impish mischief were he not an angel and incapable of such things. “This isn’t exactly keeping with the sense of good will one is supposed to feel on Christmas, but Tony’s grandparents made a final exit from the church and I was chuffed to see them go.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. They only ever attend on Easter and Christmas, so this was the first time they were there at the same time as Tony. He’d never met them before, and was understandably curious so he stared at them through most of the service. Afterward they cornered my father and told him they didn’t want their _business_ dragged up in such a public setting. All this in ear shot of Tony. But Father and Mother didn’t bat an eye before saying that they wouldn’t give him up for anything in the world. So the Murphy’s announced that they would not be coming back even if they were asked. I told them that’s rather what we were hoping for and waved them straight out of the building. My mother said that wasn’t quite the Christian thing to do, but it made Tony laugh so I regret nothing.”

The doctor wrote something down then, but only after holding her tea cup in front of her face for far longer than was natural. He suspected she was concealing a smile.

“And other than that, the rest of the day went well?”

“Oh, wonderfully, wonderfully. Let’s see, I finished reading _A Christmas Carol_ to Tony the night before. I was gifted a magician set and a new bookshelf, although due to spacial concerns it will be kept in the upstairs hall. Tony made me a model bookstore out of his Lego collection, which was very sweet of him. And I spent most of the afternoon losing at that new game contraption Mother bought us. Although I suspect she purchased it for Father mostly. He’s certainly enjoying it.”

Dr. Amanda frowned thoughtfully. “What exactly is it?”

Aziraphale bit his lip and tried to remember. He was certain he’d heard it mentioned at school, as had Tony evidently. He’d been in utter disbelief when they opened it. It was all just letters and numbers to Aziraphale. “A video game. An M65? No, I’m mixing it up with the motorway… It’s a video game computer system thing. All I know is that I played as a turtle and I kept driving in the grass… It’s quite a bizarre form of entertainment if you ask me, but Father and Tony were enjoying themselves immensely which made it difficult not to be cheerful.”

The doctor’s smile was warm. “So, everything is going alright at home? No more stress about dance lessons or anything like that?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “It’s all been peachy. Father’s even taken me to class a few times. He’s still quite uncomfortable, but he’s making a concerted effort and I appreciate that.”

The notepad made a return for a few simple scrawls. He’d gotten used to it, but he still wondered sometimes what exactly she wrote. He’d have liked a chance to read it.

“There’s only a few minutes left in our session, is there anything else you want to share?”

He bit his lip, “No major concerns. Although, and I know you’re not supposed to let one patient’s sessions influence another, but I would keep an eye out for Anthony in the coming months.”

She said nothing, but was clearly listening. Dr. Amanda had a fine line to walk with two patients from the same household, she never spoke about her appointments with Anthony to him.

“On Christmas Day, Father announced that enough money had been raised to begin renovations on the church. You see, membership isn’t quite so high as it was back in the 1960s when the expansion was originally added. The amount of space isn’t necessary anymore. For a while now there’s been talk about what to do with it all and the decision was made to turn a small segment of it into a single apartment. The idea being that it would be available for little to no rent to a person in need. Someone the church could sort of sponsor and support as a good work.

“Considering the timing and the fact that it’s actually going forward now, I rather suspect that my parents will push for it to be offered to Anthony’s mother at such time as she is ready to leave her sober living facility. While I’m sure that’s the best thing for Anthony in the long run, since he’ll get to stay so close, I’m not sure how he’s going to react initially. He’s been so odd about her. He’s still refusing to so much as speak to her on the phone, but then he kept looking for her on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Of course she didn’t come because she didn’t think he wanted her. But she did send a present, and then he refused to even open it. I don’t think _he_ understands what he’s feeling, so it’s hard for the rest of us to figure out. Either way, if all of this does go forward, I suspect you’ll have your work cut out for you.”

Although she listened, Dr. Amanda refused to comment on the feelings of her other patient. Instead she looked at her watch, considered for a moment, and then asked one more question. “How do you feel about that plan?”

Aziraphale avoided her eyes, “Well I… I may have suggested it.”

“Alright then, we can pick that up next week. We’re out of time just now.” She stood up and gestured for him to follow.

He settled his tea cup on the window sill and did as she wished. On most days, she would walk him back through the short, quiet hall to the reception room where Edith would be waiting. Today, however, they opened the door into mild chaos. The secretary came running down the hallway, leaving the door to the office bathroom swinging wide behind her. She held a plastic cup out in front of her, a hand hovering beneath it in a vain attempt to catch the water that sloshed out.

Aziraphale peered after her only to see Edith waiting at the end of the hall, leaning forward with the expectant intensity of a relay runner ready for the next leg of a race. By her side stood Anthony, bloody napkin clutched against his mouth.

Aziraphale panicked.

“Anthony! What happened?!” He ran after the secretary, willing to throw himself in the way if she somehow posed a danger.

“Angel, I-” Anthony began, but Edith interrupted him. She had received the water cup and was holding it out.

“Don’t swallow. Just swish it around and then spit it back in the cup.”

“I get to thpit? On purpothe?” She nodded and Anthony followed her directive with relish. Aziraphale stood uselessly beside her, wringing his hands with unspent anxiety. Blood aside, Anthony didn’t seem upset. In fact, after patting his mouth once more with his napkin, he flashed a proud grin in Aziraphale’s direction.

Both front teeth were gone.

Aziraphale had always found the concept of baby teeth to be one of the Lord’s odder design choices. He had been spared such unpleasantness himself. At his first visit to the dentist he’d been informed that he was an early bloomer. Most children didn’t lose their second molars until at least age ten. Aziraphale, who in 6,000 years had never thought about his teeth more deeply than to pick them after a particularly enjoyable meal, had simply nodded.

Gross as the prospect seemed to him, Anthony was not remotely distressed.

“Look, angel! Look I lotht my teeth. I got an apple at the grothery thtore and when I bit it it pulled my teeth right out! You wanna thee ‘em?” He did not wait for an answer but tugged on the strap of Edith’s purse, until she pulled out a carefully folded napkin and handed it to him. Then he unwrapped it and offered the contents for Aziraphale’s inspection.

Two little teeth glinted up at him.

“That’s… well…” He stumbled over his words, uncertain what might be the expected response “You’re growing up, aren’t you?”

Apparently, he’d said the right thing. Anthony positively beamed at him. And, though Aziraphale found the prospect of tooth loss unpleasant, he had to admit that the resulting smile was hopelessly endearing. As he watched Anthony show off his teeth to Dr. Amanda and her wonderful secretary, Aziraphale decided he would need to get a picture.

Decades from now, when all of this was over, that gap-toothed grin was something he wanted to show to Crowley.

* * *

“Th’not a very interethting thong. Can you teach me thumpting better nektht time?” Despite his words, Tony was actually enjoying himself. He wasn’t lying, it was a very boring song, but it was still fun to hit the piano keys and hear an actual melody come out.

“If you practice and you can play this for me next week, then we can definitely try a harder song,” Edith told him. It was Saturday, and they sat together in the empty church sanctuary on the piano bench. He’d hated Saturday afternoons the past few months, because Ezra always went to dance class, which meant there was absolutely nothing fun to do. But now he would have his own thing. He would learn when Ezra was learning and he could practice when Ezra practiced. And if he got any good at it, maybe he could show off.

“What ith a hot croth bun, anyway?” he asked, lyrics of the melody she’d taught him running through his head every time he hit a key.

_Hot-cross-buns-hot-cross-buns. One-a-pen-ny-two-a-pen-ny-hot-cross-buns._

“They’re a kind of roll. I’d never had any before, but I learned to bake them last Easter for Ezra. He said they’re everywhere in Britain that time of year. I’m sure I’ll make them again and you can see if you like them.”

He nodded, not entirely listening.

_Mi-re-do-mi-re-do. Do-do-do-do-re-re-re-re-mi-re-do._

Maybe next week she’d let him use more than three keys.

Tony was preparing to give the song another ten goes or so, when the front door of the sanctuary creaked open. He and Edith both jerked their heads up in surprise, but it was only Elijah and Ezra back from class. They both looked a little unhappy, though Elijah was forcing a smile. Ezra wore a worried frown.

“I thought we’d find you two out here,” Elijah said brightly. “How was your lesson, Tony?”

He played a masterful rendition of ‘Hot Cross Buns’ and received a round of applause in return.

Ezra, dance bag slung over one shoulder and with some sort of pink envelope clutched in his hands, approached. “That was excellent, Anthony. Though I’m surprised by the tune. That’s quite an old song.”

Tony hopped down from the bench and ran to meet him. “What’th in the envelope?”

Ezra sighed in a way he had that always made him sound like a tired old man. “It’s nothing really…”

“Nothing?” Elijah repeated, leaning harder into his forced joy. “It’s not nothing. Go on, tell your mom, she’ll be as happy as I am.”

Ezra spoke flatly, “I have been invited to a birthday party.”

“That’s wonderful.” Edith hurried to him and offered a hug. “I knew you’d make friends if you found something you could bond over.”

Tony folded his arms and glowered. Ezra already had a friend before he took any dance classes.

Edith took the invitation and studied it, a look of concern quickly passing across her features. Before she could speak, Elijah interrupted.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking and we’ve already worked it out. Keisha’s dad said they’re happy to have Ezra come over for cake and pizza and games. We can pick him up at 10 or 11, before all the girls go to sleep.” He turned to Ezra then, “It won’t quite be the full slumber party experience, but it’ll be your first late night. You should be excited, buddy. It’s a rite of passage!”

The adults both watched him expectantly. Ezra sighed again. “You needn’t worry. I’m going to go. I wouldn’t want to hurt the poor girl’s feelings. I’m just not thrilled about the whole prospect.”

“You’ll have fun. I promise,” Edith told him. “Now, let’s all head back to the house. It’s about time I get dinner started.”

They all gravitated toward the door, Tony bringing up the rear, feet dragging with every step. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t that Ezra had other friends, or at least it wasn’t just that, it was that it had to be slumber party. Tony had lost two of his baby teeth. He was taking lessons just like Ezra did. But no matter how fast he thought he was growing up, Ezra kept growing too.

Tony wanted so badly to catch up, but five years was such a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're already for Tony's dialogue to be kind of annoying to read until his teeth grow back. 
> 
> Also, here's the game they got for Christmas: https://youtu.be/HC3Euk4i6iw?t=245


	8. Chapter 8

Tony watched two cars collide midair above a small plastic volcano and sighed. He’d gotten lots of new things for Christmas, Lego sets and Hot Wheels tracks and a big case of art supplies. They were, none of them, things that Ezra had any interest in. Whenever Tony got them out, he’d play alone, stretched out on the floor of their room. It shouldn’t have made much of a difference whether Ezra was curled up reading on his bed or wasn’t there at all. But it did make a difference, so Tony sighed again.

Abandoning the Hot Wheels Volcano Blowout TM, he slouched out of the room, dragged himself down the stairs, and flopped dramatically over the side of the couch.

The Clarks, who’d been snuggled up together watching some movie they’d rented, paused it to stare at him.

“I’m bored,” Tony announced. “When’th Ethra coming back?”

“Not until well after you’re asleep.” Edith patted the cushion next to her, inviting him to come sit down. “But you can watch the movie with us until bed time, if you want to.”

Tony shook his head. Whatever they were watching looked boring, just a bunch of adults. Besides, it was kind of fun to sprawl over the arm of the couch. “How come he getth to thtay out tho late an’ I thtill gotta go to bed?”

“Ezra’s older than you. Someday you’ll get invited to slumber parties too,” Elijah explained.

By this point, Tony had squirmed his way fully onto the couch. He rested his chin in his hands and raised an eyebrow. “ ‘Thept he can’t thleep over either.”

Elijah turned a little red and Tony grinned. He’d known that was the reaction he’d get. He watched the pastor hem and haw, and felt satisfied with himself. “Yes, well… he’s getting to an age where… things change in middle school and… I thought you’d be glad he wasn’t staying the whole time.”

“ _I_ didn’t think he thoulda gone in the firth plathe. He coulda thtayed here. We get to thleep over every night, bathically. Don’t know why he needth to go thomewhere elthe…”

“Because Keisha is his friend and she’s having a birthday party. You’ve gone to birthday parties before, now Ezra has a turn.” Edith smiled widely at him, but Tony only humphed. It wasn’t the same thing. He’d only gotten invited when his whole class did. Ezra had been chosen specially. Tony didn’t have other friends, he didn’t see why Ezra needed more. There was already that friend he’d lost who’d given him the book and whoever that Adam kid was he wrote letters to. If he kept adding new ones there wouldn’t be any space for Tony.

“You know, Tony, as long as you’re bored and we’re talking about birthdays… There’s someone who turns seven next month whose birthday needs to be planned.” Edith had not given up on raising his spirits. “Do you know how you want to celebrate?”

Tony’s mom had always just made him a cake and maybe a paper hat. He knew that some kids had more exciting parties because of the few he’d attended that year. Ryan had invited the whole class to Chuck E. Cheese where Tony had won a small frisbee that he’d given to Ezra as a gift. He still had it on his bedside table where he used it as a coaster.

But Tony wasn’t sure the Clarks did that sort of thing. Ezra’s birthday had only been the four of them with cake and hats, just like Tony’s had always been except that no one was shouting. Tony shrugged at Edith.

“Well, Ezra had a pretty good idea. Do you want to hear it?”

Tony nodded hesitantly. He wasn’t too excited about having his birthday in a library.

“When Ezra got the mail the other day, he saved a flyer for Super Kartz Indoor Track. Do you want to invite the boys from your class to a Go Kart party?”

Tony nodded, too excited to even speak. The boys from class he could take or leave, but _actually driving?_ He should’ve trusted Ezra to choose something great. He wasn’t always very exciting himself, but he always knew what Tony would like even before he did.

* * *

In six thousand years, Aziraphale had taken part in a wide array of human ceremonies. He’d seen canopy weddings bring joy among refugees, blessed the baptisms of princes and peasants, watched with solemn acceptance as humans he’d grown close to received their funeral rites. None of that had prepared him for Keisha Walker’s twelfth birthday party.

He had heard more bebop than anyone ought to be subjected to, had a manicure performed by rank amateurs, had relearned how to braid hair, had his fortune told by a piece of origami, and was currently sitting in a circle with five girls from his dance class as they stared at him intently.

“It’s your turn, Ezra. Truth or dare?”

He did not understand the appeal of the game. The goal, as he understood it, was to embarrass one another. He supposed it must be some sort of bonding ritual. The first two victims had both chosen dares and had been forced to sneak into the kitchen to drink pickle juice and to shoot herself with a water pistol respectively. Aziraphale knew too well the creatives cruelties of humankind to choose that option.

“Truth, I suppose.” He regretted it immediately. There was a loud chorus of ‘Ooohs’ and giggles, before they huddled together in a corner of the room, like a council deciding his fate. When they returned, Keisha settled herself down primly; it would appear that being the birthday girl entitled you to the position of high inquisitor.

“So, Ezra.” She tried very hard to look serious, but the corners of her lips kept quirking up as she spoke. “Who do you have a crush on?”

Many eyes darted toward Molly Jones who turned very red and hid her face in her pajama top. The poor girl, if she tended this way with her affections she was in for many years of hardship yet.

“I’m afraid I haven’t one.”

Molly remained hidden. Keisha scoffed. “You never had a crush on anybody? Ever?”

“Well, that’s not what you asked, was it?” Aziraphale said testily. He glanced at the watch Anthony had given him. Edith was supposed to pick him up at 10:30. He’d half an hour to go.

“Wait, so like, have you had a crush on somebody?” Rachel Bateman asked.

“Isn’t it supposed to be someone else’s turn now?”

Molly, who’d popped out of her pajama shirt like a turtle, angrily bit into a twizzler and demanded in the piping voice of vengeful preadolescence, “You’ve got to tell us!”

Then they were chanting again. They’d done it several times that evening. Before eating cake, when voting on music choices, when summoning occult forces to help them lift Keisha from the floor. Shouting in unison seemed to be their greatest power and he was incapable of standing against it.

“Fine, I’ll answer.” Only once he’d said it, Aziraphale realized that he wasn’t quite sure what he planned to say. He’d never been in a ‘relationship’ with anybody, but that wasn’t entirely what they were asking. It was just the bubbly precursor to attraction that interested them and that, well he couldn’t entirely deny he’d felt that. “I… I suppose I had a bit of a crush on a friend of mine back in England.”

“Oh… Ezra that’s so sad! You had to move away and leave the love of your life across the whole ocean!” Rachel said, she’d pressed her hands to her lips as though he’d just revealed truly tragic news. “Is that why you tear up whenever that _Titanic_ song comes on the radio, even though your parents won’t even let you see the movie?”

That _Titanic_ song had already played three times during that evening’s festivities alone. Aziraphale nodded.

“That’s so romantic,” Keisha sighed. “Do you write letters or something?”

“No,” Aziraphale said. “That time has passed.”

The vague finality of his words awed the girls into silence, and it was some time before the game continued. It went on until each child had suffered their own torture. The only moment that Aziraphale enjoyed was when Rachel admitted to having a crush on class bad boy Gavin and the group advised her against it.

Keisha had shaken her head sagely, “I know he’s got nice hair, but he’s really mean to Ezra, and you don’t want that kind of bad energy in your life.” He hoped they were as supportive of one another as the years went on.

Still, he was grateful when Edith arrived at last and spared him from an ongoing conversation about who was which ‘Spiced Girl’. He wished Keisha many happy returns, grabbed his goody bag and sank gratefully into the back seat of the car.

“Did you have a fun time?” Edith asked him.

“Fun was had,” Aziraphale answered. He didn’t say by whom. He’d been to two proper children’s birthday parties now and he supposed this one was the more successful. No guns had gone off, no food had been thrown, and no one had realized they’d misplaced the antichrist. Still, if he never had to attend another such event, it would be too soon.

“Oh! That reminds me, Ez. Tony likes the idea of having his party at that Go Kart place.”

“Wonderful…” said Aziraphale.

* * *

February 1998

Tony was flying. Whipping around the track at a breathtaking 25 miles per hour. Occasionally he would maneuver his way around one of his guests, but besides seeing them as an obstacle, he paid them little mind. All that mattered was going fast as he could so that the stale air of the indoor track rushed against his face. Well that and waving to Ezra whenever he passed by the starting gate.

Ezra had opted not to participate, but he looked awfully happy just the same. He was beaming, brighter than the overhead lights just watching Tony go by. Tony figured it had to be because he was such an awesome driver.

Even if he’d been allowed to loop around eternally, Tony was certain he’d never grow bored. But eventually a pock marked teenager waved a checkered flag, calling their time on the track to an end. Tony considered pressing the gas pedal as hard as he could and seeing if they’d tried to chase him down, but Ezra was watching him and somehow that made the prospect of getting in trouble seem a lot less fun.

Besides, it wasn’t as though his birthday was over just because the racing was. The whole group was ushered to a side room where presents, pizza, and cake awaited. The Super Kartz staff had decorated it all with balloons, plastic checkered table cloths, and little trophies for each of the boys to take home. No one had ever done anything like this for Tony, and he stopped in the doorway to stare as his classmates and the Clarks went in like all of it were completely normal.

Only Ezra noticed that he was overcome. He paused beside Tony and spoke softly enough that no one else could hear, “Is it too much?”

Tony shook his head. “No. It’th… I really like it. I jutht wanted to… to… LOOK at everything for a thecond. I never had anything thith cool. Ever.”

“Well, I can’t think of a ‘cooler’ person to have it.”

He never knew what to do with himself when Ezra said things like that. It made him feel the same way the birthday room did, warm and happy and overwhelmed all at the same time. He blushed. “’M not cool.”

“Not cool? It certainly doesn’t seem that way to me. You gave me the impression all these boys were just coming for free cake, but they seem rather in awe of you.”

“Jutht ‘cuz I do thtuff at thchool that they wouldn’t do. I think they were thcared of me at the beginning of the year.”

“Well, they don’t seem scared of you now. And anyway I was under the impression that rebellious behaviors were considered cool.” Ezra blanched when he realized what he’d said. “Not that I want to encourage that sort of thing.”

Tony liked it when the older boy got flustered. He grinned and took him by the hand. “Come on, angel. Let’th have thome pitha.”

* * *

In the ranked order of children’s birthday parties that Aziraphale had been forced to attend, this one was easily at the top so far. It was far too loud to be certain, as ten six-year-olds were wont to be, and the decorated back room that had so awed Anthony seemed dilapidated and sad to Aziraphale. But that was just it; Anthony was happy. That alone made the entire situation worth it.

At present, Edith was snapping pictures with her third disposable camera of the afternoon while Elijah tried to wrangle excited urchins back into their seats after they’d gathered around to sing ‘Happy Birthday’. Perhaps it helped his enjoyment to be the party’s resident ‘big kid’ as well. He was spared the adult responsibility of Warlock’s celebration and the required participation of Keisha’s.

Still, he wanted to be helpful, so he’d opted for the role of server. He considered the cake carefully, trying to decide how best to size slices. He was dimly aware of ongoing camera flashes and the presence of Anthony by his elbow. While the other children wiggled and shouted for their dessert, he was sitting quietly beside Aziraphale, patiently waiting for him to finish.

After the cake had been divided, Aziraphale took a tentative bite. Although the people at Super Kartz had offered to provide a cake as part of their service, Edith had turned them down. Instead, she and Aziraphale had made everything from scratch except, of course, for the seven toy cars nestled in the road drawn in icing on the top.

He smiled. They’d done a rather good job if he said so himself. It was so easy to make a cake too dry, but they’d avoided that pitfall. He beamed with pride and snuck a glance at Anthony. He was happily licking icing off of one of the toy cars. Aziraphale smiled. At last one of these parties wasn’t going to be a disaster.

Then Maddy Drake walked into the room.

Aziraphale could feel Anthony tense beside him. He dropped the car he was holding back onto his plate and then gripped the plastic table cloth hard enough that his fingers tore little holes in its surface. No one else seemed to notice. The other children were disinterested by the arrival of a new adult and the Clarks began to act as though they expected Anthony to be thrilled.

“Surprise! Look who it is!” Edith cooed, going to Maddy and leading her into the room. The poor woman looked just as tense as Anthony, although her energy tended nervous rather than angry. She was clutching a wrapped present tightly to her chest and said nothing until she stood by Anthony’s side.

“Happy Birthday, Tony!” Anthony folded his arms and stared at the table. Maddy continued anyway. “I’m just stopping by, but I wanted to give this to you myself. I hope you like it.”

She placed it next to him on the table and then stepped back, clearly uncertain about what to do with herself. Anthony sat unmoving a moment then suddenly hit the present with all his might, sending it flying off the table and onto the floor.

Now all the guests were paying attention. They gaped, wondering what he’d do next. For his part Aziraphale struggled to find the proper reaction, so did all three of the adults. Anthony pushed away his plate, stood up and glared at his mother.

“Go away! I hate you!”

“Anthony!” Aziraphale admonished, “That’s not kind.”

“I don’t care. It’th my birthday and I don’t want her here. Leave me alone!” For emphasis he seized his plate of cake from the table and flung it onto the floor. The small slice and paper plate made an unsatisfyingly soft thud, so he stomped on his present next.

Maddy had gone very still and was biting her lip so hard that it had gone the same white as the rest of her skin. In a shaky voice she managed, “Tony, I’m sor-”

But that was all before Anthony let out an aggravated cry and bolted for the door.

Edith, who’d had her hand on Maddy’s elbow, pulled the younger woman into a hug. Over her shoulder she gave orders. “Elijah, please make sure the guests all get their goody bags and have a chance to clean up. Their parents should be coming soon anyway. Ezra, it’s okay. Go.”

Aziraphale’s immediate reaction had been to chase after Tony, but he’d stopped himself after a few steps, uncertain where the most immediate problem was. Still, if Elijah could handle the party and Edith could console Maddy, then he’d gladly take the job that mattered to him the most.

He pounded out of the room, stopping only to ask one of the workers if they’d seen a small boy run by. She pointed through the glass front doors of the building to a small figure hunched over by the curb.

Aziraphale approached slowly and settled down beside Anthony without saying a word. The late February air was biting and cold, particularly since they’d both left their coats inside. Anthony’s breath was ragged with tears so Aziraphale did not encourage him to talk. Instead he put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. He waited until Anthony spoke first.

“Why’d they have to let her come?”

“I think they thought you might be pleased to see her. You seemed a little down when she made no appearance at Christmas.”

Anthony sniffed. “That’th ‘cuz… cuz… I… I want _her_ to want to be with me. But I don’t want her here!”

Aziraphale nearly told him that he was being ridiculous. He would have if they were both in their proper forms, if they both had six millennia of experience behind them. But one look at the tear stained, freckled face leaning on his shoulder was reminder enough that he wasn’t dealing with his own Crowley. This was a child, barely seven-years-old, who’d had an unfairly turbulent life. If he was feeling contradictions that he could not fully explain, that was to be expected.

With a deep breath, Aziraphale let his logical arguments leave. “When do you think you will be ready to have her around?”

“Never! I’m never, ever, ever, gonna forgive her for not wanting me!” He burst into tears then, burying his face against his knees. And all Aziraphale could do was sit there and feel horrible for both mother and son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the mood whiplash.
> 
> "My Heart Will Go On" That Titanic Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Siz-xBfIqpg  
> It was played ad nauseam on radio in 1998, at least in the United States (and I assume Canada). If you it did not get a ton of play in your country or if you're too young to have experienced the onslaught, give it a listen now to discover why I imagine it would make Aziraphale cry every time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cultural Note: The internet has given me the understanding that Yard Sales (A.K.A. Tag Sales, Garage Sales, Rummage Sales, etc.) aren't a universal practice, so I'm going to explain them here. 
> 
> A Yard Sale is when you get rid of some of your old stuff by selling it outside your house. They are a relatively common experience in American suburbia, often held when someone is moving, but also common after spring cleaning or when children have aged out of a lot of their possessions.
> 
> You remember Toy Story 2? There's one at the start of Toy Story 2.

March 1998

Sundays were the absolute worst day of the week.

They hadn’t always been. Tony used to like them, at least after church was over. They meant he’d have all afternoon to spend with Ezra without any school or homework or anything. Only that wasn’t true anymore. Sure, Ezra was still around, but so was Tony’s mother.

He thought he’d made himself pretty clear at his birthday party, but instead of disappearing Maddy was visiting regularly. It had started the weekend after his tantrum. The Clarks had told him days in advance that she’d be coming Sunday morning for church and staying through lunch. Apparently they thought he’d have a better reaction if it wasn’t a surprise.

Tony had chained himself to the swing set with the plastic handcuffs from the magic set Ezra had gotten for Christmas.

He’d planned to stay there the whole afternoon, despite the cold and how boring it all was. He stayed firm even when the social worker who’d arrived with his mother came out to talk with him. It was Ezra who got him inside.

He’d arrived with a sandwich and a mug of hot cocoa, which made it hard for Tony to keep his bad mood quite as bad as he’d needed it to be.

“Anthony dear, please come in the house. You needn’t speak with her if you don’t like. You needn’t even stay in the same room, but please come inside.”

“I can’t get the handcuffth off,” Tony had insisted, although he hadn’t actually tried. Ezra, with the quickness of a trained magician, freed him. His excuse destroyed, Tony had agreed to go in. But he’d spent the rest of the visit in his room.

Still, Maddy was back the next Sunday and the one after that. Tony had tried a different tactic each week. He’d tried being angry and rude. He’d tried setting traps like the kid in Home Alone. Neither had worked. By the time the end of the month rolled around, her visits had lengthened until she was staying through dinner. Tony didn’t have the energy to keep throwing fits, he didn’t have the patience to spend the whole time in his room, and he didn’t have the engineering skills to protect the house from invasion with nothing more than Hot Wheels tracks and string. He’d settled on ignoring her. Sitting at the same table, on the same couch, eating the same dinner, and pretending she did not exist.

She could talk to him all she wanted; he never said a word back.

He’d tripped up only once and that had been Elijah’s fault. Edith and Maddy had been talking in the kitchen when Elijah had asked Tony if he wanted to play a few rounds of _Diddy Kong Racing_. Tony, as the number one champion in the house, had readily agreed. But he should have paid attention to the third controller. Ezra had opted to read on the couch behind them instead, leaving an open spot if anybody wanted it.

Elijah had invited Maddy. Tony could have ignored her if only she hadn’t been _good_ at it. After a few rounds of practice, she’d found a short cut and gotten out ahead of him.

“How’d you do that?”

She beamed. “If you hit the boost right you can go across the water without sinking in.”

Realizing what he’d done, Tony turned bright red, folded his arms and refused to play for the rest of the day.

That had been last week. Tony had expected more of the same today, but things were different right from the very beginning. For one, the social worker was back, she hadn’t been since the beginning of the month. She sat down at the dining room table with the Clarks and Maddy. After introductions, Ezra and Tony were given their lunches and banished upstairs.

Tony opened his tuna fish sandwich and placed a few potato chips inside so that it would crunch better. Without looking up he said, “How much you wanna bet they’re talking about me?”

“Nothing, considering you haven’t any money.”

“I do! I got four fifty thent piethes from lothing my teeth.”

“Well, considering that social worker is in charge of your case, I’m not going to bet against you being the topic of conversation.” While Tony was getting crumbs all over his bed, Ezra had set himself at his desk. He’d even tucked a napkin into the neckline of his shirt so that nothing would get on his clothes.

It was silly and Tony loved him for it.

“I hope the thocial lady will tell Mom to thtop vithiting all the time.”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up for that. I suspect she’s the one who told your mother she ought to make more regular visits in the first place.” Ezra watched him out of the corner of his eye. He seemed a little nervous about where the conversation might be going.

“Why’d she do thomething like that?”

“Well, er, it’s… oh, I’m not sure I’m in the right position to talk about all this. I mean, you know your mother had… how to explain this… Had a sort of, illness where she was addicted to things that were bad for her.”

“I know what drugth are, angel.”

“Right, well, she’s been working on that, and she’s made extraordinary progress. And that was the main reason she couldn’t take care of you. So, now that that hurdle is mostly out of the way, they’re probably working on some sort of timeline for her to start taking care of you again.”

Tony’s plate clattered to the ground, plastic thunking against wooden floorboards as chips scattered like landmines at his feet. His eyes welled up with tears. “You mean I gotta go?”

“Oh! Anthony, don’t get upset, please.” Ezra put his own lunch down and hurried over, ignoring the chips that crunched to dust beneath his feet. “It’s not as though anything will happen right away. And just because you won’t be living with us doesn’t mean we won’t be friends anymore. It doesn’t mean any of us will love you any less.”

Tony clung to him, leaving tear stains on his Sunday best. Ezra’s voice grew faster and more frantic as he spoke, as though he was trying to find the right words to make everything better. “And it wouldn’t be so bad, would it? I know you’re angry at her, but you do love her. I know you do. And besides, you might not be moving very far away at all. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I think there’s a rather strong possibility that your mother might move into that apartment in the church building. We’ll be neighbors then, Anthony. All you’ll have to do is walk over and I’ll be right here.”

Tony pulled back, sniffing away his tears as he studied Ezra closely. “You don’t know though! You don’t know for thertain that’ll happen.”

“Well, I… No. I don’t know for certain. But it’s likely.”

That wasn’t enough for Tony. He looked around the room they shared together, at the toys, at the books, at all their things mixed up together. If there was even just a tiny chance that his mother, that anyone, was going to tear them apart, he wasn’t going to let that happen.

His gaze lingered longest on Ezra’s bedside table. There were always two books there, whatever Ezra was currently reading for himself and whatever he was currently reading to Tony. Even if he were just a stone’s throw away, over in the church, Ezra couldn’t read to him every night. There wouldn’t be any _Winnie the Pooh_ or _Wind in the Willows_ or _Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark_. Maybe he’d never find out how their current book even ended. Never learn what became of the runaway kids in _From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankenweiler._

Then suddenly Tony grinned, he turned to Ezra, filled with wonder at his own genius. “I got it!”

“You’ve got what?”

“A plan.” He just knew Ezra would love this. “We can run away together!”

Ezra seemed amazed at first. He stared at Tony with shock, but then his face sort of crumpled. He buried his head in his hands. “Please… We can’t but I… Please don’t make me say ‘no’ to that again. Please.”

Tony did not know what he had done to create such a reaction. He did not know when he’d ever asked Ezra to run away before. He DID know that he wanted Ezra to feel better. Putting his own tears aside, he offered a hug and a pat on the back. It was all he had.

Ezra calmed himself quickly, wiping away tears with the heels of his palm before straightening his collar and looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. You’re the one who ought to be upset right now. I shouldn’t have made this about me.”

“I’m okay,” Tony told him. It wasn’t true, but he did not want Ezra to cry again. Still, the older boy stared down at him, and Tony just knew he could tell it was a lie.

Ezra stood abruptly, took a deep breath, and then strode toward the door. “Staying up here is ridiculous. I’m going to see what I can do.”

They’d been told to stay in their room, but Ezra walked right out, chin high with determination. Tony was left on the bed, blinking in surprise. A moment later he hopped down and hurried after.

By the time Tony made it to the foot of the stairs, Ezra was already standing in the doorway to the dining room. From his vantage point, Tony could not see any of the adults. He imagined they all looked slack jawed and bug eyed, like cartoon characters who’d been caught off guard.

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to make a suggestion before everything was set in stone.”

“Ezra, you were supposed to stay upstairs,” Edith said, voice stern.

“Go back,” Elijah added.

“I understand if you decide a punishment is warranted, but I’m not leaving until I’ve had my say.” Ezra’s hands were clenched tightly behind his back where none of the adults could see.

Tony didn’t recognize the next voice immediately, and supposed it was the social worker. “Dear, this is a legal conversation. It’s up to Mrs. Drake to decide who she wants at this meeting, so unless she’s fine with it-”

“I’m fine with it,” Maddy chimed in. “I’d love to hear what he has to say.”

For a moment Tony forgot he was trying to hate her.

“Wonderful!” Ezra’s whole faced brightened. “So, first I would like to know what the situation is with the church apartment. Is that plan going forward?”

“Ezra…” Elijah’s voice was low with warning.

Maddy’s wasn’t. “Yes, we were just talking about that. I’ll be ready to move out of my current place around Easter and it should be ready around then.”

“And Tony?”

“Well, he doesn’t seem ready to move in with me at all…”

“That’s just what I wanted to talk about.” Ezra finally stepped forward, leaving Tony’s line of vision as he entered the dining room. “I’m only a child of course, and I don’t pretend to follow all the legal decisions that need to be made in terms of who has custody when. However, it seems to me, if we’ll all be living on the same property either way, would it not be alright for Anthony to make that transition on his own timeline- regardless of whose custody he’s in? It seems to me he might warm up faster if he didn’t feel so forced. And you would be around all the time, when you’re not at work and he’s not at school. He’s bound to get more used to everything just by your being here, I should think.”

Tony would not ever move out. Nobody could make him and he wouldn’t just get used to the idea. Still, Ezra was brilliant. Saying that was all part of his plan; it had to be.

Maddy spoke next. “Would that be possible? Could I have custody and still let him room here for a while, or would that be a problem for the courts?”

“If all of you are in agreement with that, we can make that part of the plan,” the social worker answered. “We’ll, of course, be doing check ins and we’ll hope to see some improvement in your relationship as time goes on, but I think that’s not a bad idea for the transition period. It seems to be in the child’s best interest.”

“Excellent. I’ll just be going back upstairs now. I’ll await my sentence there.” Ezra hurried from the room, stopping only when he noticed Tony sitting on the bottom step. Silent, so the adults wouldn’t hear them, Tony and Ezra grinned at each other.

* * *

April 1998

The crowd of parishioners had come and gone by three ’o’clock in the afternoon on Easter Sunday. The services (and the accompanying egg hunt) had only been the start of a very busy day. Instead of spending the rest of it with a little bit of good food and a lot of rest, the Clarks and Aziraphale were helping to move Maddy Drake into her new apartment.

She hadn’t many possessions of her own, but members of the church had donated what they could. Now it all needed to be set up, so the place could be turned into a proper home. Having moved all the boxes that needed moving, they were gathered in the cozy apartment now, wiping things down, hanging things up, and plugging things in.

There was a great deal that needed doing, but Aziraphale kept hesitating to lend a hand. Every time he did, he could feel Anthony frowning at him as though he’d committed treason. The boy had set himself in the middle of the room, precisely where he would most be underfoot, and was working his way through his basket of Easter candy. He kept dropping pastel colored wrappers on the floor as though daring someone to scold him. Knowing he was angling for a reaction, the parents had all opted to overlook it. Aziraphale couldn’t. He was too aware of the eyes on his back as he handed Maddy glasses to put away in the cupboard.

When he turned around again, Anthony was lain across the floor tossing plastic Easter grass in the air like confetti. He began to sing, at the top of his lungs, in a key Aziraphale knew he knew was wrong. “Here cometh Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny trail. HIPPITY HOPPITY EATHTERTH ON ITH WAY!”

Elijah and Edith, who had been hanging curtains together, joined Maddy and Ezra in the kitchenette. Elijah spoke in a harsh whisper. “We can’t keep letting him act like that.”

“Should I yell at him?” Maddy asked, glancing from Clark to Clark, desperate for parenting advice.

“No. That’s what he wants. He’s trying to get one of us to snap so he’ll have a reason to be mad,” Edith said. “But Elijah’s right. We can’t let him just act like that either.”

Tony had stopped singing and was staring at the four of them, clearly straining to hear what was being said. Aziraphale dropped his voice. “Mother, the three of us can get everything done. Why don’t take him down to play on the piano? That usually makes him feel better when he doesn’t know what to do with himself.”

“You sure you’ll all be okay?” Maddy, Aziraphale, and Elijah nodded encouragingly. Edith turned to Anthony. “With all the Easter preparations we missed our lesson yesterday, Tony! Why don’t we go downstairs before we miss the whole weekend?”

The child paused a moment, as though he wanted to resist the temptation, but soon he nodded and hopped up from his nest of candy wrappers. He took Edith’s hand and followed her out of the room.

“Good. Now we can actually get that rug down.” Elijah sighed, but smiled at them. “I’m going to run and get the broom from our house. Does anybody need anything while I’m over there?”

Aziraphale and Maddy shook their heads and he was gone. Aziraphale had never been alone with Maddy before and he found himself suddenly shy. The feeling was short lived, however, as she seemed just as uncomfortable as he was. She bit her lip and smiled with the rest of her face.

“I’ve thanked your parents like a billion times for everything they’ve done, but I’m thinking you’re probably the one I should be thanking more than anybody. You haven’t known him _that_ long and it’s like you know him better than I do.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t necessarily say that.”

“No, seriously. Like just now, I wouldn’t’ve guessed that he would want to go play piano. I thought those lessons were just something your mom thought was a good idea. I didn’t know how much he liked it.” Melancholy trespassed on her smile, and she grew briefly quiet with the weight of what she’d missed. “I really am glad he has you. If he never forgives me for letting his dad treat him like that-”

“You mustn’t blame yourself for anything that man did. You and Anthony were both victims in that situation. You’ve been so very brave.”

“I know, I know. I’ve got people older than eleven that I’m working on that with. I just, I wanted to say that it makes me really happy that he has someone he cares about as much as you. Oh, I know!” She rushed to one of the boxes that had been left on the couch and dug through it. She stood triumphantly, a framed picture clutched in her hand. “Your mom gave me this. It’s from his birthday, before I got there. It’s my favorite picture of him, hands down.”

Maddy handed him the photograph and Aziraphale was surprised to see that Anthony wasn’t at the center of it. It was Aziraphale himself who first drew focus. He was standing, brows furrowed as he cut the birthday cake with the careful concentration of an artist. Anthony sat beside him, cheek resting on his hand, as he stared at Aziraphale with overwhelming adoration.

It was a familiar expression, one he’d occasionally caught on Crowley’s face when the demon thought no one was looking. One Aziraphale had spent millennia convincing himself he’d imagined. It was such a gentle expression, soft and loving and warm, that Aziraphale could hardly believe he’d ever done anything to deserve it.

“That’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him.” Maddy’s voice yanked Aziraphale back through thousands of years of history until he was standing once more in the small apartment. “If he never decides to sleep here, I’d be alright knowing he can look like that.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll come around eventually,” Aziraphale assured her, placing the frame back in her hands. “We’ll all do what we can to encourage him.”

“Speaking of that…” she trailed off, waving for him to follow her toward one of the two bedrooms. The apartment wasn’t much bigger than the one she’d once shared with her husband, but it was more thoughtfully laid out, allowing a bit of privacy for both her and her son if he ever chose to join her. Maddy’s own bedroom was currently a mess of half unpacked boxes, but the one put aside for Tony was empty. Maddy leaned against the door frame and gestured at the nothingness. “The bed I guess we’ll just move from your room if he ever agrees to it, but I’d like there to be more in here before. I wanna make it his, you know? But I don’t know what he likes anymore. He’s kind of outgrown Sesame Street and I just… I was hoping you could help me, since you seem to… I dunno… _get_ him.”

“That’s a splendid idea, of course I’ll help you!” Aziraphale beamed, loving her for loving Anthony.

* * *

The following Sunday, after lunch, Aziraphale selected a sturdy pair of walking shoes and his lightest jacket and prepared to meet Maddy outside the church. It was a weekend in mid-spring and signs for various yard sales had been popping up throughout the neighborhood, pinned with industrial sized staples to utility poles. It had been an alien concept to Aziraphale when he’d first arrived, but he’d attended a few with Edith who enjoyed looking at her neighbors' old goods as an excuse to strike up a conversation. Usually most of what was available was junk, but Aziraphale had once managed to find an extraordinarily cheap first edition of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ that had belonged to someone’s grandmother. He hoped for that sort of luck today.

Even with her discounted rent, Maddy didn’t have much by way of disposable income. The goal today was to stretch a scraped and saved for one hundred and twenty three dollars as far as it could go. Aziraphale wasn’t exactly certain what they would find that could turn Anthony’s room into more of a home for him, but that added to the thrill of the hunt.

He slipped out the door without wishing anyone goodbye. The Clarks already knew where he was going and Anthony? Well, if Aziraphale could avoid trying to explain this all the better. His mother remained a touchy subject.

The day was pleasant and Maddy brightened when she saw him, as though she’d half expected to be jilted by a sixth grader and was relieved to find this wasn’t true. Their first destination was a few streets over, and Aziraphale filled the walk with questions about how Maddy was settling in and getting on at work. He’d gotten her to share how difficult it could be sometimes at night, now that she wasn’t in the sober home anymore, before she shook her head and said, “Sorry, I keep forgetting you’re like ten-years-old.”

“Eleven.” He corrected gently.

“Still, we should be talking about power rangers or school or something. Dance? You take dance classes, right?”

Aziraphale nodded and let her guide the conversation off in that direction. It was a spot of angelic pride that he could get people to open up to him easily. He’d have to work on her again at some point, now wasn’t the moment.

The first house was a failure. The family had clearly decided not to have any more children and were getting rid of every inch of baby paraphernalia they had tucked away in their home. Their property was laden with bins of bottles and teething rings, high chairs, cribs, and playpens. This was to say nothing of the five children between the ages of two and six running rampant amongst them. Maddy and Aziraphale backed away slowly.

Their next stop was a bit more promising. Two teenagers manned the family’s cash box as neighbors looked through toys and clothes they had long since outgrown. Maddy rifled through a box of ‘Action Figures’ while Aziraphale flipped through old posters and wondered who He-man was and where he’d put his clothes.

In the end they left empty handed, conceding that they might not find a better spread of items. Aziraphale’s legs were beginning to ache when the next sale came into view. He should have known better then to do so much walking on the day after dance class. He would be sore for days after this.

“Ezra! Welcome! And Madison, it’s nice to see you out and about!” The older woman running the sale pushed herself out of the lawn chair she’d been lounging in and hurried over to them. Aziraphale recognized her right away. It was Marjory Holmes, a long-time member of the church and renegade member of the ladies’ book club. Aziraphale liked her, both for donating the bed that had become Anthony’s and because she always asked him for book suggestions that would scandalize the club. She did have a tendency to talk without end, however.

“Uh, hi,” Maddy said. “Do I know you?”

“Yes. I’ve been going to Westwich Methodist since you were in the Sunday School program, before you left town. I’m glad we have you back. If we had to trade your parents out to get you, I think we came away with the better deal.” She winked at Aziraphale as Maddy tried to decide whether to laugh or not. “The group decided on _Chicken Soup for the Soul_ instead of _Moll Flanders_. But thanks for the suggestion anyway.”

“You’re very welcome. You should read it on your own if you’re interested. It caused quite a stir in 1722.”

“I’m sure it did. I’ve got some books for sale if you’re interested over on that table.” She pointed to one corner of her front yard (as the Americans called it) where a stack of old paper backs was piled high. The sale was much larger than the previous two they’d come across, spanning not only the yard, but the driveway and back into the garage as well. Marjory laughed as the two of them glanced around. “James and I are downsizing to a condo this summer, so we’re cleaning out the house. I’ve got everything up from the basement and down from the attic, including a lot of the kid’s stuff. They moved out twenty years ago, at this point I don’t think they’ll be using any of it. You know they ask you to save things, but I called them up last weekend and told them this was it. We couldn’t be the storage unit anymore.”

She seemed ready to launch into a rather long story about her phone calls with her adult children when a new neighbor walked up to divert her attention. Freed, Maddy and Aziraphale disappeared amongst decades of accumulated rubbish.

It was like wandering in a disorganized museum of recent history. In a pile of clothing Aziraphale found a shirt he was certain Crowley had worn in the 1970s. In a stack of magazines he lost himself in old news. Had it really been nearly forty years since that poor Kennedy fellow had been shot?

Maddy was quicker to find her way to what might generously be described as the children’s section. An old chest of toys had been tucked beneath a table laden with small clothing which had last been worn by people who now had mortgages and retirement funds. Still, she was no less distracted than Aziraphale was. She kept pulling out plastic oddities and exalting over them like lost treasures. “Oh my god a view-master. I remember these things! This slinky has seen better days. Holy shit, is this a Talking Chrissy?”

Aziraphale left her there to wander into the garage. There were larger items here, furniture mostly. Chairs, tables, and ottomans that he doubted would be of much interest to a seven year old. He did pause, however, after nearly tripping over a milk crate on his way back out.

There were five of them, crowded near one corner of the garage, each filled end to end with record sleeves. Thinking fondly of the phonograph stuck safely behind enchantments in his book shop across the sea, Aziraphale squatted down to thumb through them. Perhaps someone in the household had a fondness for classical concertos or musical theater.

Alas, no such luck. He found himself looking at all sorts of strange covers, zombies and skeletons and men without much clothing and a great deal of hair. Switching to another crate he found the men on the covers to be more heavily clad but considerably more shaggy. He paused, surprised when he pulled out a sleeve that bore only a picture of a banana. Odd and oddly familiar. Aziraphale flipped it over, read the title he found there, and for a moment he was back in the Bentley studying the small plastic case of an audio cassette, wondering to himself what exactly a _Velvet Underground_ was.

“Thought I lost you there, Ezra. Did you find something good over here?” Maddy interrupted. Aziraphale catapulted back through time and space to find himself sitting on a garage floor.

“Oh, uh, just some old records.”

“Oh wow! My aunt used to have that one. What else are they selling?” She plopped down beside him and leafed through the boxes with more urgency and recognition than Aziraphale possessed. She knew most of them, the names if not all the individual songs. They’d been sorted, apparently, by decade and her commentary flowed from remembrances of some beloved aunt to those of her own adolescence. “They haven’t got _Vacant Soul_. I know they were a one hit wonder, but they were my favorite back when I was into Hair Metal before I got into House.”

Aziraphale was not sure if there was a context in which that sentence made sense.

“Still this is a really impressive collection. Her kids have either gone totally straight laced or they do _not_ realize she is selling all these for two bucks a pop. This is a jackpot for whatever collector takes it home.”

The banana album was still clutched in Aziraphale’s hands. He bit his lip, trying to balance what he knew of his old friend and his current form. Anthony certainly liked music, though he hadn’t shown any particular fondness for one genre over another. He seemed about as happy listening to the soundtracks of those puppet films as he did to whatever was on the radio. He enjoyed the classical and musical tunes that Aziraphale had shared with him. Just about the only thing he seemed to dislike were the poorly written children’s worship songs that made an appearance at Sunday School.

Crowley had been like that too, enjoying most of the songs that humans made from the moment they first discovered rhythm. But he’d had a rather special fondness for, what did he call it? Rock and roll music. Anthony hadn’t gotten a chance to listen to such a thing. It wasn’t exactly the Clarks’ cup of tea.

Maddy, who was still gleefully digging through the albums, seemed to very much be a fan. If Anthony did like this sort of thing, and Aziraphale was all but certain he would, then her home would be the one place for him to experience it.

“ _We_ could buy them.”

“What?”

“For Anthony, I mean. He adores music, all of it, practically. If we could just get our hands on a phonograph, I’m sure he would love these. You’re not going to find a more affordable way to start a collection for him.”

“You think? He’s only seven. Is he really going to enjoy…” She pulled one out at random and gestured to it. “Queen’s Greatest Hits.”

“Yes! That one. That one especially!” He recognized the name straight off from Crowley’s own complaining. He’d been quite put out when the Bentley had first begun to show it’s musical preferences but, after a decade’s worth of forced listening, the demon had developed a sort of musical Stockholm Syndrome. The grumbles had turned into humming.

“If you say so. That’s why I brought you with me after all. I wonder if she’s got a record player around here somewhere…”

It turned out Aziraphale had already passed it straight by. What he’d assumed was nothing more than some sort of sideboard actually contained cloth covered speakers and all sorts of machinery inside. Maddy whistled when she saw it, “There’s no way I’m going to be able to afford this…”

But Marjory Holmes proved to be both kind and eager to declutter. She asked how much Maddy had to spend and then announced that, shockingly, the Record Console and all five crates of records were going for One Hundred and Twenty Three dollars exactly.

“I can’t take all this for that little,” Maddy said. “The records alone should be more than that.”

“Nonsense. It’s going to the dump if I can’t sell it today. Might as well make a little exchange that benefits us both. Now, you two come back with some way to take all this off my property and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Aziraphale was feeling quite pleased some two hours later when, with the help of both Elijah and his car, the record console and its accompanying collection had been relocated to Anthony’s future room. With the edition of a bed, the room would certainly be snug, but Maddy swore she’d work out some shelving to make better use of the space. Besides, it seemed delightfully Crowley in a way nothing else Anthony owned did.

Aziraphale smiled to himself, glad of a job well done, as he made his way back to his own room to do a little reading before dinner. The feeling died when he opened the door and saw Anthony sitting on his bed glaring in Aziraphale’s direction.


	10. Chapter 10

“Is everything alright, Anthony?” Aziraphale closed the door behind him tentatively. He had never seen that look on Anthony’s face before, not directed at him. Crowley, of course, had occasion across the millennia to be so furious at Aziraphale, but even then it was rare. In this little version the expression might have been cute, if it weren’t so disturbing

Aziraphale waited, but Anthony didn’t say anything. He just kept glaring. He held his pillow in his arms as though he wanted to strangle it. Aziraphale spoke softly. “I can tell you’re upset about something. Why don’t you tell me what it is so that we can-”

“I hate you.”

Stunned, Aziraphale blinked a few times and said the only thing that came to mind, “No, you don’t.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that Anthony was briefly thrown. He sat in silence before remembering he was angry. “I do!”

“No. You’re angry with me but the doesn’t mean you hate me. They’re not the same thing.” He sat beside Anthony on his bed spread and gave a small but encouraging smile. “Would you please tell me why you’re angry?”

“Don’t pretend to like me.”

“I’m not- I’m not pretending. How you could think such a thing?” He reached out for one of Anthony’s hands, but the younger boy leaned away.

“You _are_ pretending! And don’t act all calm!” Dropping the pillow, Anthony shoved him. With the age and size difference between them it wasn’t terribly effective. He shoved harder and when Aziraphale didn’t so much as budge, he stood up and stomped across the room.

It was painful to be told he didn’t care when he so deeply did. He could hear himself, so many years ago, protesting that there was no friendship between them. It was a wonder Crowley had ever forgiven him.

Or maybe it wasn’t. On the other side of the equation now, it was clear that Anthony was hurt and that made it easier to be gentle with him. Crowley must have seen the truth behind Aziraphale’s words then, just as he could see the truth now.

“I’m not pretending to like you, my dear, and I’m not pretending to be calm. All I want is for you to tell me why-” He stopped. Anthony had pulled a book from one of Aziraphale’s shelves and thrown it on the ground. Aziraphale breathed deeply and tightened his hands together. He was not going to lose his temper.

Getting no reaction, Anthony sent more books tumbling to the floor. When Aziraphale did not flinch, he grew visibly frustrated. His eyes scanned the room for some weakness, something he could do that would be upsetting enough to make Aziraphale feel whatever frustration he felt himself. Aziraphale sat primly, proud of his own patience, until Anthony’s eyes fell on the corner of the bookshelf that held his three most precious tomes. He lunged, grabbing the copy of Grimm’s fairytales, opening it, and ripping the first page.

Aziraphale’s patience snapped. Partly it was the usual reason, the pain of seeing something so priceless mishandled. More than that, however, it was a break in his perception of the being that stood before him. He’d been trying very hard not to see Anthony as precisely the same as Crowley. That way lay unfair expectations and a lack of understanding. But, despite that, he always saw the shade of his old friend in the things Anthony would say or the way he would smile. He would do things that reminded Aziraphale that the demon lay dormant within him, a seed housing a familiar flower.

In that moment, however, watching Anthony mar something Crowley had given him, Aziraphale saw two entirely different people. For that moment Crowley was dead and this miserable child had destroyed the only thing Aziraphale had to remember him by.

He stood up, grabbed the book out of Anthony’s hands and clutched it to his chest so that it remained out of reach. “How could you? How dare you? You stubborn, little ingrate. All any of us have been trying to do is care for you. Is this about your mother? Are you angry I spent time with your mother? All we were doing was trying to make things better for you. Trying to turn that flat of hers into something you might be able to consider a home. Because she cares about you. She loves you despite how mean and wretched you’ve been toward her. And what, now you’re going to be mean to me too? Because I tried to help?”

“I knew it!” Anthony screamed back, before Aziraphale could regret any of his words. “I knew you didn’t want me. I knew no one wanted me. You want to get rid of me. Everyone alwayth trieth to get rid of me.”

And then he burst into tears.

He collapsed to the ground, squatting so that he could hide his face in his knees. Aziraphale’s regret came quickly then. He tossed the book onto his bed and hurried to Anthony’s side. The arm he tried to put around the boy’s skinny shoulder was rebuffed, but he stayed on the floor beside Anthony anyway.

“No one wants to get rid of you, darling. No one ever did. We’re just trying to find a way for you to be happiest. We want you to feel comfortable in your mother’s home so that it’s ready whenever you’re ready. It’s your decision when you want go, whenever, if ever that happens.”

Anthony continued to sob. He choked out what words he could through tears and missing teeth. “They kicked me out. Everyone ith alwayth kicking me out.”

The poor child, Aziraphale should never have shouted at him, should never have called him stubborn or ungrateful. This time last year he’d still been living in that awful home with that awful man. Of course he was traumatized and angry. He’d been shouted at, injured, lost, taken from his family- Aziraphale’s stream of thought came to a stuttering halt.

Of all the horrors the boy had faced, the thing he was crying over wasn’t among them.

He spoke carefully. “Anthony, when were you ever kicked out?”

The question caught the child off guard. He sniffed heavily and finally looked at Aziraphale, “Huh?”

“I mean, I understand why you feel insecure about where you’re living, because you have been brought from place to place outside of your own control. I can see how that might make you want to cry and throw things. Only, I don’t see why you’re saying that people have tried to get rid of you. You were _taken_ from your father and mother. You were moved from that group home to here because we asked for you. In both of those cases you were wanted, usually by more than one person. Even right now, that’s the issue. You’re wanted in two households, not in none. Why do you think no one wants you?”

Anthony frowned. A few tears still traced pathways down his face, but he looked more confused now then upset. “Because I… I thought I… I thought I remembered nobody wanting me. They kicked me out…”

“Who?”

Anthony could not answer because he did not know, but Aziraphale did and hugged him all the closer for it. This poor child, with all he’d faced in seven human years, was fighting a subconscious trauma that he’d inherited from another life. He was right, he had been kicked out: once by heaven, once by hell. The memory was gone but the feeling lingered, mixed about and attached like leeches to his human experience. Aziraphale held him, and the boy leaned close.

Eventually he said, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry-” Aziraphale paused, thinking what lesson he might inadvertently leave. “Well, no I suppose you should be, a little. It’s not the feelings you should be sorry for. It’s alright for you to be mad, even with people you love. It’s just, it’s not alright to hurt them. You shouldn’t’ve shoved me or harmed something you knew was precious.”

Anthony looked up at him, wearing the expression of a kicked dog. Aziraphale stroked his hair, “But I should apologize too. I went too far when I was angry. I shouldn’t’ve called you any of those mean things. You’re far too dear to me for any of that.”

“That’th jutht wordth though.”

“Words can still hurt; that’s why you have to be careful with them. And I wasn’t, so I’m sorry.”

Anthony was quiet for a while, looking thoughtful as he stayed pressed close to Aziraphale. He didn’t speak until they were both called down to dinner. When Aziraphale went to stand, Anthony held onto his sleeve. “Have I been hurting my mom?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth and closed it, trying to weigh each word. “You’re under no obligation to move in with her until you’re ready, and it’s perfectly alright for you to feel angry and frustrated with her. But when you pretend she doesn’t exist or say nasty things to her, it probably does hurt and I don’t think it makes you feel much better either. Try to be a little more civil with her, for both your sakes.”

Anthony’s fingers slipped from Aziraphale’s sleeve into his hand. He held it tightly as they went downstairs for dinner. Aziraphale squeezed back, letting him know that no matter what, he was wanted somewhere.

* * *

Tony had been a very bad friend. He remembered it every time he saw that German book sitting on the shelf and watching him. He told Doctor Amanda about it and she said he should focus on how the argument had ended, how sometimes people make mistakes but that doesn’t mean nobody will ever love them again. Still, Tony wanted to do something to show Ezra just how good a friend he could be.

He started with little things. He kept his part of the room cleaner, tried everything Ezra baked (even the ones that got left in the oven too long), and let Ezra practice his magic show for him. Tony had even started being nicer to his mother, just as Ezra had asked. Not nice, exactly, but nic _er_. He’d ask her to pass the salt, answer questions if she asked them, and played games with her as long as there were other people playing too. Still, he didn’t _like_ her and he wasn’t going to move out of his room. Not in a million years.

April slipped into May without much change. Tony still kept his mother at arm’s length and was still looking for the perfect opportunity for a grand gesture that would cleanse his guilty, book-ripping, conscience. His chance began to make itself evident at a neighborhood barbecue on Memorial Day.

The whole block was in attendance. Someone had contacted the town board and gotten the street blocked off so that they could have free run of it without concern of getting run over. Tables, grills, and coolers had been set up on one end, while bean bag toss, water balloons, and limbo was going on at the other. The local top 100 radio station blared from someone’s car speakers, but you could barely make it out over the sound of everyone running around and shouting to one another.

Tony wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He’d been given permission to roam the street without direct supervision, a freedom that turned out to be less exciting than expected, but still allowed him to drink more soda than was wise. He’d had three cans of Mountain Dew in one hour and he was feeling a bit twitchy.

Ezra had set himself up on the curbside beneath a tree with some big book about sad French people. He’d been working at it for most of the afternoon, despite adult suggestions that he go play with other middle school boys who were throwing bean bags at each other down the opposite end of the street. Ezra just demurely shook his head and said he’d rather not.

He wasn’t enjoying himself very much; Tony could tell without asking. He’d decided the best course of action was to try and sneak Ezra a selection of desserts. It wasn’t an easy task, as the plates of brownies, cookies, and rice crispy treats were supposed to remain in cling wrap until after hot dogs and hamburgers were served. But Tony didn’t see why Ezra should have to wait.

He’d gotten pretty far already, just by hiding under the plastic flag print table cloth. Whenever the adult legs around him disappeared, he’d pop-up, unwrap the nearest platter, grab what he could, and wrap it back up best as he was able. Then he would disappear beneath the table again to add it to his collection. His paper plate already had two types of brownies, a blondie, and five cookies. It was a risk to keep going, but he was enjoying the thrill. Besides Ezra deserved three more varieties at least.

Tony was about to pop up for his next grab, when a group of men’s legs approached, their otherwise invisible owners chatting as one bent down and grabbed a beer from a nearby cooler. Much to Tony’s chagrin, they didn’t move away afterward.

“Can’t believe it’s almost summer already. I’m not exactly looking forward to having the kids at home all the time.”

“Tell me about it. Nate goes stir crazy after a few days off and we spend half the time trying to find him something to do. He’s got Scout Camp lined up the week after the Fourth of July and Soccer Camp in August, but that’s only two weeks out of the summer. What’re you three doing with yours?”

Tony could not tell which pair of shoes was talking at what time, although he thought the second voice might belong to the man wearing socks with his sandals.

“It’s not such a hassle when they’re older.” This was a new voice, one with a faded accent that Tony couldn’t place.” My eldest is applying for colleges next year, so she’ll be keeping herself busy with volunteer work and campus tours. Violet though, she’s in class with your boys, we’ve got her signed up for all sorts of activities. She’s got voice lessons, a three week theater camp, and guitar. So hopefully that will keep her busy.”

“Sounds like it, Tanaka. Maybe I’ll see if there’s any classes Ezra might enjoy. I’ve asked him about camps, but there’s no interest there.” THAT voice Tony knew immediately and now that he thought about it, that pair of loafers looked familiar too. Elijah sighed. “I still wish I could have gotten him to agree to scouts. I made so many friends that way.”

“It’s been good for Nate, I’ll tell you that. Gets him out of the house and really gives us a chance to bond, you know. I’ve gone on camping trips with his troop and helped him earn some of his merit badges. It’s a great father and son thing,” Socks-with-Sandals said. “Tanaka, either of your kids in girl scouts?”

“Lily used to, when she small. Violet is less interested in the group aspect of it all. They’re very different girls.”

“Maybe that’s your kid’s problem. He’s kind of shy, isn’t he? You should take him camping just the two of you this summer. Take the troop part out of it and just show him the ropes yourself.”

Silence fell momentarily and Tony got the feeling they were all staring in the direction of a blond boy sitting by himself in the shade.

“I’m telling you, Reverend, you sign the kid up for scouts or take him camping or something whether he wants to or not. He needs it. I know you came into this whole father thing late in his life, and I hate to say it, but that kid needs someone to show him how to man up. Get him away from the books and those classes your wife lets him take or you’re doing him a real disservice.” This voice, Tony decided, belonged to the man in the sneakers. He was glad it did, because that meant that Tony could reach out from under the table cloth and tie the idiot’s shoes together. Then he slipped out the other side of the table, bent low and snuck his way toward Ezra.

“I got you something sweet,” Tony announced, settling down beside him with the plate held out between them. He had been making a point to use as many ‘S’ words as possibly lately, as his front two grown-up teeth had started to come in.

“Oh!” Ezra looked up from his book in surprise. “I didn’t think those had been put out just yet.”

“They weren’t.”

Ezra paused, just as he was about to take his first bite, said, “You really shouldn’t’ve done that”, and then continued to eat them anyway. Ezra didn’t eat the way Tony did, as though food were best enjoyed as fast as possible. Ezra always took his time, tasting everything carefully and savoring every bite.

Tony let him finish before saying anything. “Hey, angel, if your dad asked you on a trip, just the two of you, would you wanna go?”

Ezra’s brows furrowed, “What brought that question on? I suppose it would depend on the trip. I mean, it does seem a shame that we’re so close to New York and I haven’t gotten the chance to see a single Broadway production since my arrival.”

“I meant more like camping.”

“Ugh.” Ezra shook his head. “Humanity has made so many strides away from having to sleep on the ground near a fire. I don’t understand the desire to return to it. I mean, dear Lord, the Romans had running water and that was millennia ago. What put that idea into your head?”

Tony was about to answer when Elijah walked up to them. The conversation died a sudden death.

“Hey boys, how’s it going? You having fun?” Ezra nodded without much feeling. Tony frowned. “Well, I was hoping you’d join me for a round of bean bag toss against Nate and his dad. They were going to play against the Harrisons, but Mr. Harrison just busted his knees up after he tripped. Seems like some prankster tied his shoes together.”

Tony hid his snicker behind a hand.

“Anyway, I told them we’d play against them instead. You coming?”

Ezra seemed to visibly deflate. “You already told them we would?”

“Yeah, it’s just tossing bean bags, I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

Ezra got up and followed him, with the air of someone being brought to execution. Tony watched him go, lost deep in his own thoughts.

Elijah hadn’t actually agreed with the horrible man who’d told him to go camping. He hadn’t said anything at all. Tony would have to watch him closely. He’d have to listen and wait. If Elijah even considered dragging Ezra off to the woods, Tony would have to make the ultimate sacrifice.

* * *

Aziraphale sat, as primly as possible, on an unfolded exercise mat on the floor of a local high school gymnasium. All around him, children from every class at _Raising the Barre: Dance Studio_ ran and laughed and lounged about in glittery costumes and cakey stage make up. There was a recital today, only Aziraphale’s second, and the excitement that had filled the room that morning had long since given way to a maddened sort of boredom.

The gymnasium was a holding cell from which different dance classes would be freed only to be escorted to the school auditorium to perform their single number. There were dozens of classes, when every genre and age group was taken into consideration, and the recital had gone on for hours already. It had started with the preschool groups and ticked on up through the eighth graders. The families, held likewise captive in the auditorium seats, were finally watching the high school groups. It would be the first time all day they saw any consistent talent.

Although Aziraphale had packed a book into his dance bag in the hopes of passing the time, he found it difficult to read amongst the chaos of overtired toddlers and their stage mother wranglers. This had made much of the morning long and boring, but it had all been worth it, everything considered. He’d relished in the performance.

The steps were simple, but he and his classmates had done an admirable job, in Aziraphale’s opinion. They’d gone out on stage in their bright yellow rain slickers with their umbrellas and faux wellies affixed over their tap shoes, and they’d given _Singin’ in the Rain_ their very best. It had been such delightful fun beneath the lights, knowing the Clarks and Anthony were out their watching.

And it wasn’t quite so bad back stage either, not really. He had his classmates with him, a few of whom had brought games and other activities. There were worse ways to pass the time.

Presently, they were all enjoying a bag of sweets that Molly had provided. _Ring Pops,_ the girls had told him. They were an amusing little treat, candy to be worn like jewelry. Aziraphale had taken three and thought back to the 1700s when he’d had a quite a collection- although those hadn’t been for eating.

“It’s not fair you and Molly get to go to cheer camp,” Rachel Bateman whined to Keisha without much enthusiasm. “I’ve got to go to the same old, sleep away summer camp I go to every year. It’s not a vacation when my brother goes too.”

The girls, performance over, had taken to decorating themselves by drawing directly on their skin with a brand new set of gel pens. The writing utensils were doing a decent job considering they were intended for paper. They came in such an impressive array of glimmering colors that Aziraphale began to wonder if Edith might get him some as an end of the school year present.

“It took me forever to persuade my mom to let me go. She’s worried about me missing out on a week of dance classes. I had to get all ‘A’s before she said it was alright.” Keisha stopped speaking to inspect the metallic butterfly she’d drawn on the back of her hand. Then she grinned at Aziraphale. “That wouldn’t be hard for you though, huh? Did you get your parents to send you anywhere?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m not very keen on camping.”

Keisha rolled her eyes fondly. “It’s not _camping;_ it’s _camp_. They’ve got themes and stuff. It’s just a lot of fun and you get to learn things. There’s cheer camp and, like, computer camp and space camp and dance camp and theater camp and stuff.”

Rachel Bateman sighed. “Mine’s just camp-camp.”

“I’d rather stay at home,” Aziraphale told them, licking one of his ring pops thoughtfully. “Although I do hope you’ll write.”

“You should have gotten them to send you back to England for the summer. I bet you probably miss it a whole lot,” Molly said. Since coming to terms with his lack of interest toward her, she’d instead decided to fully invest in the story of his lost love back home. She never shared the details with him, but he rather suspected she thought he’d been thrown out of the country because he’d shared a forbidden romance with royalty. This was odd considering he would have necessarily been eight years old at the time.

“I do miss it. Often. But I’m growing more use to things here.” The girls all looked at him, at once pitying and enjoying the drama of having a homesick foreigner for a friend.

“Hey, Ezra, can we give you a tattoo too?” Keisha asked suddenly. “I’ve got one in mind.”

She seemed so eager that he hadn’t the heart to tell her ‘no’. This was a mistake. The whole dance troupe descended on him, pens uncapped. By the time the show was over he had a heart shaped Union Jack on each cheek and a cartoon angel on the back of his left hand (Keisha had heard Anthony call him ‘Angle’ once and told everyone else in class because it was the cutest thing _ever)_.

One by one, parents arrived from the auditorium to pick up their excited children, many with flowers to celebrate the accomplishments of their Broadway bound babies. Then suddenly Edith was among them, cooing over how good he’d gotten and handing him a bouquet as though he’d just done opening night at the Shubert.

“Your dad and Tony are waiting by the car and they’re so proud of you too.” She took his bag for him and led the way down the hall as he cradled his flowers in the arm that was not covered in candy rings. Edith paused as they passed by the men’s room and turned to him. “Do you want to wash your face off before we go outside? You’ve still got all that stage makeup on and those girls certainly had a lot of fun with those pens.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I’d like to take a proper shower when we get back. I’ll scrub it all off then.”

She hesitated a moment, just long enough for Aziraphale to catch it, then forced a smile and headed the rest of the way to the car. Anthony saw him first, bounding over to greet Aziraphale with a hug.

He pulled back with the slightly sticky sound of skin against vinyl and grinned, “You were real good, angel.”

He was completely in earnest, but somehow Aziraphale knew he’d have had the same reaction even if Aziraphale had fallen flat on his face.

Elijah approached more slowly, giving time for Aziraphale to notice two things out of the ordinary. First, Elijah seemed concerned. He was looking Aziraphale over as though there were something wrong. His eyes lingered on the flowers in Aziraphale’s hands, the rings adorning his fingers, the hearts drawn onto his cheeks. The pastor’s lips grew thin and he gave little more than a nod and a curt, “I could really tell you practiced.”

The other thing he’d noticed was Anthony. He’d gone rigid and intense. The more Elijah watched Aziraphale, the harder Anthony watched Elijah. And for all that Anthony’s pupils were round and he wasn’t half so lanky as he’d once been, Aziraphale was put to mind of a serpent ready to strike.

* * *

That night, after dinner when his mother was home from work, Tony followed her back to her apartment. Without a word to the Clarks he walked out the door after her, trailed her around to the front of the fellowship hall, up the stairs, and straight to the door of her new home. The whole way she kept glancing over her shoulder to see if he was still with her, but she never said a word, as though frightened that she might scare him off. When at last they both stood in her kitchen, looking awkwardly at one another, she finally spoke.

“Did you want to be spend the night, Tony?”

He shook his head, finding himself growing silent- the way he used to be all the time. He didn’t want to be here, there were too many feelings, but he had something important to do. “Are you allowed to take time off work?”

Her eyebrows jumped up. “Oh my god, Tony, is something wrong? Do you need me, because if you need me to be home for something I could-”

“No, I meant like this summer.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders fell as though she were both relieved and a little disappointed. “Well, I can’t take off the whole summer, but Mr. Rossini said I get some vacation days. Did you want to go somewhere?”

Tony bit his lip, trying to decide what he was going to say next. “I think you should ask the Clarks if we could all go camping, but like the kind of camping where you stay in a building and the sinks work and there’s a shower and a refrigerator and a phone so you can order pizza.”

“I don’t think that’s camping. I think that’s renting a cabin.”

“I want you to ask the Clarks if we could all rent a cabin. Together. All of us. All five. Not two.”

She was watching him, studying him very closely and Tony tried to keep his thoughts off his face. Maddy looked entirely too suspicious. “Why do you want _me_ to ask, instead of you asking. I mean, to be honest I’m surprised you even want me to come.”

“ _You_ have to do it, because if you say it’s important for us or something, it’ll be way harder for them to say no. Plus since you’re avoiding party places and stuff, you could say it’s just gotta be a cabin.”

“Okay, so why _does_ it have to be a cabin? You strike me as more of a theme park kind of guy.”

Tony took a deep breath. The only way he’d get her to stop needling was to give the whole truth. “Because if we go camping as a whole group then Elijah won’t make Ezra go camping just the two of them. So you gotta ask soon, before he plans that one so that Ezra doesn’t have to go.”

Maddy sighed and sat down on the sofa, patting the space beside her so that Tony would sit down. He did sit, but far at the other end so she wouldn’t get the wrong idea. She didn’t comment on that. “Listen, Tony, I love how much you love Ezra, but it’s okay for him to spend some time just bonding with his dad. If he wants to go, you shouldn’t try to stop that from happening.”

“But he _doesn’t_ want to go. I asked him. He hates camping and the only reason Elijah wants to take him is _because_ he hates it. I heard him talking at that stupid block party. All these dads were saying how he’s gotta take Ezra out in the woods and make him all tough. Like he’s gotta change even though he’s already perfect. Ezra’s too nice and he won’t say ‘no’. He’ll just go and be sad because he’ll know his dad doesn’t think he’s good enough and also because there wouldn’t be any toilets. But mostly the first thing.”

Maddy folded her arms, staring at the floor as she thought over everything Tony had just said. “You really think his dad would do that?”

“You didn’t see him after Ezra’s recital today. He was looking at him like… like… like there was something wrong with him. And he got that way when Ezra first started taking classes too. He’s trying to be okay with it, but I don’t think he is. I just know he was thinkin’ about what all those dads said. I know it!”

Tony’s mother was looking at him very hard, as though he’d said something very complicated and she’s was thinking about every side of it. Then she nodded “Okay. We’ll do your plan. I’ve got group meeting tomorrow, and I’ll ask afterward so it seems like something I discussed there… We’ll make sure Ezra doesn’t have to go on any manly camping trips against his will. We’ll keep him safe.”

Briefly, Tony forgot himself. He launched across the couch and wrapped his arms around her. Then he immediately let go and backed away. She couldn’t quite hide her smile. “Alright, I’ll walk you back.”

“I could do it myself,” Tony insisted, as they exited the apartment together. He found he didn’t mind so much that she was walking with him.

“I know, but it’s dark and I’ll feel better if I know you’re safe.” 

The silence between them was more comfortable now and was interrupted only when a thought suddenly occurred to Tony. “Oh no!”

“What is it?”

“I got in a fight with Ezra a while ago and I’ve been trying to show him what a good friend I am, but if we stop the camping trip before he even knows about it, then he won’t know that I helped him!”

Maddy laughed. “I’m sure he knows how much you care about him. And besides, doing nice things for him even when he doesn’t know is part of what makes for a really good friend. He does all sorts of things for you no matter what.”

Tony shrugged. They had made it back to the Clark’s front stoop and he would have to think about that later. He paused, uncertain if he ought to say goodbye or not. He settled for, “Thanks.”

“No problem, Tony.” Maddy kept her hands stuffed in her back pockets as though that were the only way to stop herself from hugging him. Still, she didn’t turn around and leave. She rocked on her feet for a moment before saying, “Another way you can be a really good friend to Ezra is to keep on loving him just the way he is. He’s getting pretty close to being a teenager now and… things might get a little harder for him. He’s gonna need you in his corner, alright?”

Tony nodded. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that. As far as he was concerned, loving Ezra was as natural as breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters to go for this part and then it's on to fic number 3. 
> 
> Also, in case you have not heard "Singing in the Rain", here it is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1ZYhVpdXbQ


	11. Chapter 11

July 1998

“Buddy, we’re leaving in twenty minutes. If you’re not done packing in ten, I’m going to come up there and do it for you.” Elijah’s voice rang up the stairs and through the open door of Aziraphale and Anthony’s room.

“I’ll be ready; you needn’t rush me,” Aziraphale snapped. He then turned back to his bed and frowned. Laid out before him were many piles of clothing, a stack of books, and one, entirely too small piece of luggage. He had his school back pack too of course, but had been told he was only allowed to put one bag in the car. There wouldn’t be much extra space between the five of them, all their personal items, and a cooler full of refreshments.

He’d been struggling to narrow down his wardrobe and reading selection since breakfast, well over two hours ago. During that same time, Anthony had packed, gone downstairs, returned with the directive that he needed to bring more clothing and fewer toy cars, repacked, and disappeared once more.

With a sigh, Aziraphale made his final decisions, forcing himself to abandon most of his nicer clothing for khaki shorts and short sleeved button ups. He’d take a jumper or two, in case the evenings got nippy, and he’d have to bring the pair of swim trunks Edith had purchased for the occasion, though he had no intention of using them. With everything included, it didn’t leave much space for books. He’d just finished reading _The Hobbit_ to Anthony, which meant he could probably get by with just _The Fellowship of the Ring_ for two of them. Still, Aziraphale would need his own entertainment. He crammed in a copy of Thoreau’s _On Walden Pond_ which seemed appropriate to the situation and a book of Whitman’s poetry. His _Complete Sherlock Holmes_ would not fit and would have to stay behind.

When he arrived downstairs, lugging his bag behind him, Elijah was waiting by the door. “I was starting to think you were going to bring the whole room.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic; there were many decisions to be made. Is everyone else already out?”

“Yup. Come on, I need to lock up.”

Aziraphale waited as Elijah flitted around the house, double checking that the oven was off and the windows had all been closed. He was feeling a bit snippy and did not offer to help. He was not looking forward to this adventure and he had reason to believe it was all Elijah’s fault.

Certainly Maddy had been the one to request such a trip. She’d done so the last week of May and they’d been planning ever since. Yet, something about the situation was suspicious. It had been two days after Anthony had asked him about whether he’d enjoy camping with Elijah and it had been one day after Anthony had gone to his mother’s apartment without any explanation. He’d asked Anthony about it later, but the boy had only smiled and told him not to worry because he’d ‘taken care of it’.

By Aziraphale’s reasoning, Anthony must have had some cause to believe Elijah was planning a camping trip and gotten his mother to make a preemptive strike. Once Edith and Maddy and Anthony were involved what might have been a tent was upgraded to a cabin, complete with running water and electricity. Aziraphale supposed he should thank his lucky stars, or just Anthony, that he’d been spared a more rustic experience. Still, if they were going to rent a house, he would have preferred a seaside cottage, and he couldn’t stop wondering why Elijah would have wanted to take him camping in the first place. He imagined it had something to do with not approving of an eleven-year-old boy taking two hours to choose his wardrobe.

“Alright, we’re all done here. Let’s get your bag in the car and we can hit the road.” Elijah smiled at him. “You know, I’ve always wanted to go on a family vacation like this. It’s not the same with just a couple.”

Aziraphale sighed. Elijah had so readily expanded his idea of a family vacation to include, not only Anthony, but Maddy as well. That was sweet and open-minded, and entirely antithetical to Aziraphale’s suspicions. Humans could be so difficult to categorize sometimes.

They found the car packed but otherwise empty. Maddy stood nearby leaning against the wall of the church, ear tilted upwards toward an open window. The tinkling sound of piano keys leaked out into the summer air. It would appear Anthony was fitting in one last lesson before their departure.

“Buddy, can you run inside and tell them we’re ready to go?”

Aziraphale nodded and hurried around to the front of the church where he found the door open wide. The melody was clearer from here and all at once it hit Aziraphale with a powerful wave of nostalgia. He’d heard it first the day after Crowley had saved him from the blitz. He’d been home again, still shaken from last night’s events, still unable to stop his heart from beating. He’d turned to the radio, hoping a spot of music could settle his nerves.

It hadn’t. It was far too full of love songs. He’d sat, like one entranced, as Miss Vera Lynn sang about her heart and soul. The moment she had finished, he’d clicked the radio off and vowed to listen to nothing but news for the foreseeable future.

Anthony and Edith were currently playing together, each performing on different ends of the piano in a charming little duet. Loathe to interrupt, Aziraphale lingered in the doorway, humming to himself. Without meaning to, he began to sing along.

“ _Heart and Soul_

_I begged to be adored_

_Lost control, and tumbled overboard, gladly_

_That magic night we kissed_

_There in the moon mist”_

The playing stopped as the pianists noticed him. Anthony hopped off the bench and hurried over. “I didn’t know that song had words. Did I play it alright?”

“You were wonderful!” Aziraphale said and Anthony beamed at him “You’re coming along quite spectacularly.”

“He really is!” Edith agreed. She was closing the windows, giving the church the same once over Elijah had given the house. “Is everyone ready to go, Ezra?”

Aziraphale nodded and before long the entire family, luggage and all, was stuffed in the Clark’s minivan and trundling down the highway. The cabin they’d rented was over two hours away, across state lines, in the Catskill Mountains of New York. Aziraphale was certain the drive would feel exponentially longer.

He and Anthony were buckled side by side in the middle of the car, with the adults agreeing to rotate between the driver seat, passenger seat, and crammed in the third row next to the cooler seat. The first half hour went smoothly. Edith had offered to sit in the far back, and she was delivering snacks with carefully planned regularity. Maddy had total control of the radio and, while her tastes did not align with Aziraphale’s, she at least provided more variety than a single pop hits station and the same three tapes of worship music that usually played in the car. Elijah, familiar with the local roads, drove with smooth certainty. Anthony was bright and excited, babbling pleasantly about how he’d never been out of the state before. Aziraphale began to think things might go well after all.

An hour in and he was wondering how much paperwork there would be if he threw himself out of the car. If he didn’t think he’d leave Anthony traumatized, he might have done it. Maddy was driving now. The poor woman had no confidence in herself and kept stopping jerkily or almost missing turns. Edith had located a top ten station which had played _My Heart Will Go On_ twice already, leaving Aziraphale a blubbering mess both times. Elijah was rationing the snacks and Anthony was loudly complaining about how bored he was.

At the hour and a half mark, all five of them had accepted that there was no world outside their metal prison. Edith had stopped bickering with Elijah over directions and was passive-aggressively following his navigation, even when she knew it was wrong. Maddy was stretched out across the back seat giving out soda and goldfish as though supplies were unlimited. Anthony, averse to Elijah’s selection of syrupy praise music, had treated them all to the entire soundtrack of _The Muppet Movie_ by shout-singing it at the top of voice.

When they finally pulled up a dirt road and stopped outside their cabin, it looked like the promised land after forty years in the desert. Aziraphale would know.

The whole lot of them scrambled free of the car, grateful for the ability to stretch their limbs and breathe in fresh air. Anthony stopped in his tracks, mouth open as he gawked at the scenery around him. The full panoramic view dwarfed what little he’d been able to see from the car, and he was clearly stunned by the sheer size of nature.

His wonder made Aziraphale give their surroundings a second look. It was a pretty area, far enough nestled into the woods that one could forget it wasn’t all that far from a major road. Behind the cabin the land arched up, making the trees appear to have stadium seating. It was pleasant and green and relaxing, but nothing Aziraphale had not experienced on a grander scale in other places in other eras since the dawn of time. Anthony, who had no memory of any place more rural than the suburbs of Westwich, was transported.

Elijah hurried to speak with a woman in a beat up, red, pick-up truck who was waiting to hand over the keys, while Edith and Maddy quickly set themselves to unpacking the mini-van. Without a word, Aziraphale offered his assistance, leaving Anthony to his marveling uninterrupted. They piled their luggage on the cabin’s front deck, each of them pausing in their work to peer in through the front window. Aside from its log aesthetic, Aziraphale wasn’t certain he’d call the sizable, comfortable structure a cabin at all.

This pleased him.

“Alright everybody, I’ve got the keys right here.” Elijah dangled them excitedly as the woman drove off. “Let’s see what’s waiting for us inside!”

Anthony glanced over, his reverie broken at last, and hurried to join the rest of the group as Elijah turned the key. The room beyond was bright and sunny, its large windows allowing light to filter in from the less wooded side of the house. The layout was breezy and open. From the front door one could see a cozy seating area by the hearth, a dining table with mismatched chairs, and the kitchen, all uninterrupted by walls. There was a short hall beyond that and a staircase leading up to a peak-ceilinged loft. Not a large home for five people, but pleasant and well-planned. Aziraphale was feeling better about the week ahead already.

As the adults made a beeline to take turns using the bathroom off the back hall, Anthony seized Aziraphale’s hand and dragged him off to explore the cabin’s every corner. Their first discovery was a trove of old board games in a trunk that was doing double duty as a coffee table. Next, they climbed to the loft, which wrapped all around the perimeter of the room, providing a place for additional seating, a lumpy king sized bed, and a few horizontally oriented book shelves. Aziraphale immediately set to studying their spines, discovering an odd collection of survival books, atlases, trail guides, and the sort of pulpy beach reading that one might easily leave behind when a trip was done.

There were two doors up here as well. After making a complete, full speed lap around the loft and bouncing on the bed three times, Anthony rushed up to one and tugged it open.

“There’s another bathroom up here!” Aziraphale joined him and peered in. There was only a toilet and a sink, no shower. He’d never understand why American-English was so prudish about admitting the actual purpose of the room. Perhaps it had been all those puritans early on.

Anthony, immediately bored, bounded across to the other small door and yanked with all his might. It wouldn’t budge. He pulled hard enough that, when his hand slipped, he fell backwards onto his bottom.

“Is everything alright up there?” Edith shouted up from the room below.

“Anthony just slipped. We’re fine,” Aziraphale called back. More quietly he turned to Anthony, “It’s probably just a linen closet or the like. I’d guess the owner keeps it locked so guests don’t go snooping.”

“But I want to snoop…”

Aziraphale chuckled, “Well, perhaps we’ll find the key about somewhere before the week is up. Hmm? It’ll be a bit of a mystery.”

Anthony grinned, hopped up, and thudded back down the stairs off to see if there was anything else to explore.

* * *

The first few days of their vacation were really rather lovely. The afternoon of day one had been spent nesting. Edith and Maddy took the unenviable task of getting back in the car to go purchase previsions at the local market, while Elijah and ‘the boys’ had made up beds and wiped down surfaces, just in case the last renters hadn’t been as careful as they ought. They’d discovered a grill back behind the house and had a little cook out that evening. They’d stayed up talking at a picnic table outside until the stars were out and Anthony nodded off into his empty bowl of ice cream.

The next day was overcast, gray, and far colder than the season demanded. Somehow, it only served to make the house more cozy. Elijah built a fire in the fireplace and kept it stoked throughout the afternoon. Maddy dug through the trunk and pulled out a number of old board games, most which looked as though they’d been purchased a few decades prior. Anthony deigned to play with her and Elijah. Before long the three of them were chuckling over their successes and misfortunes with every roll of the dice.

Aziraphale and Edith busied themselves in the kitchen, from where they could watch the games unfold. She’d promised to teach him how to make an apple pie from scratch and by the time lunch rolled around the whole house was fragrant with sugar, cinnamon, and pastry. At dusk the rain arrived at last, bringing rolls of thunder. It was the sort of storm that demanded you turn off every light in the house and gather by the window to watch the lightning flash. It made one feel very small and very grateful for sturdy walls and apple pie.

That night, after they all had gone to bed (the Clarks to the private bed room, Maddy to the pull out couch, Aziraphale and Anthony to the old king in the loft) Anthony snuggled up close beneath the blankets. He had a torch or as he insisted a _‘Flashlight, angel. Torches are on fire’_ held up beneath his chin. With the sheets pulled over their heads like a makeshift tent, Anthony made up spooky stories as the thunder cracked around them. His eyes were bright and animated as he reveled in the joy of performance. It made Aziraphale’s heart melt, particularly when he remembered the quiet child who’d finally spoken to him just this time last year.

At some point he got carried away and shrieked, prompting a sleepy Maddy to call up from below, “Go to sleep; it’s after midnight.”

The flashlight went dark and the two of them struggled to smother their giggles. Aziraphale could not have explained what he was laughing about, but in that moment he was fully content with all the oddities of his current situation.

The next day was not so pleasant.

Weather-wise it was a massive improvement but that was rather the root of the problem. Aziraphale was perfectly happy enjoying the summer’s day from the porch swing with a glass of lemonade and the company of Mr. Thoreau. He waved as the others passed by, off to go on walks, play horse shoes, go fishing, or try out the cabin’s questionable canoe on a nearby pond. He was glad they were happy but had no interest in any of it.

Had he been an adult they would likely have let him be, but he wasn’t and so the comments began. It started as nothing more than gentle needling.

From Edith: “We’re going on another short hike after lunch, you should join us. The trails are beautiful.”

From Elijah: “How do you know you don’t like fishing if you’ve never tried it?”

By 2 P.M. the tone had sharpened.

Edith: “This is a family vacation. You’ve got to spend more time with the family.”

And Elijah: “We did not travel this far so that you can spend the week doing exactly the same thing you’d be doing at home.”

Aziraphale had continually rebuffed them, explaining that he thought one went on holiday to relax and this was how he chose to do it.

By 4 P.M. Aziraphale could hear Edith and Elijah arguing in harsh whispers through the open window of the cabin. Perhaps they had retreated to the front corner of the rental property so as not to be overheard by Maddy or Anthony but they hadn’t taken into account how close Aziraphale actually was.

“I don’t care what he says, I’m making him get off his butt tomorrow and walk somewhere farther than the book case upstairs. Just because he’s usually a good kid doesn’t mean we can let him get his way all the time.”

“No, I know.” Edith’s sigh was audible. “He can be so stubborn sometimes. It’s just... he’s almost a teenager and I don’t want to push him away.”

“Making sure he takes advantage of an experience isn’t pushing him away. It’s being parents,” Elijah assured her. Perhaps they weren’t so much arguing as stressfully agreeing with one another.

“I guess… I’m wondering if this was the best trip for him. I mean, we probably would’ve gotten more buy-in if we’d gone somewhere with museums and theaters.” She was right on that point.

“Hotel rooms in the city and tickets to all of that would cost so much we wouldn’t have been able to do it.” Aziraphale had to concede that Elijah had a fair point there as well. But then he kept talking, “Besides, the kid needs to rough it a little. I mean, you just said it, he’s almost a teenager. The kids at his school are only going to get crueler.”

“That’s not true,” Edith insisted. “Things have been so much better since he started tap.”

“That’s only because the boys in his class think his friends are cute and don’t them to get angry. They’re ignoring him instead of picking on him. And besides, he’s not going to keep those classes up forever. They start doing competitions and things once they’re in high school and he’s shown no interest in that. I keep thinking about him in high school and college and as an adult. I feel like I’m failing if I keep letting him be so… _soft_.”

Aziraphale sat very still and waited to hear what Edith would say.

“He’s such a little gentleman, I keep hoping the world will be gentle right back. But I do think you’re right. We need to push him sometimes.”

If Aziraphale were actually Ezra, were actually eleven-years-old, he would probably have begun to cry. He would have felt as though he weren’t good enough, as though he was a failure in the eyes of his parents. But Aziraphale was old. He had long known humans and their venomous misconceptions. He’d gotten up his hopes and been disappointed by their prejudices more times than he could count across his six millennia on earth. Nowadays, they only made him tired.

Or they _should_ have only made him tired.

After two years living among them, two years trying so hard to fit in, a part of him felt like a disappointment anyway. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he did, and so sadness, frustration, anger, and exhausting disappointment all bubbled up within and threatened to overwhelm him.

* * *

Ezra was unhappy. He’d been unhappy since last night at dinner when Elijah told him they’d be going on a full day hike the next afternoon. He hadn’t argued with his father, had simply looked at him icily over his buttered cob of corn and said dismissively, “if you feel we must.”

He hadn’t said another word to either of his parents until the meal was over and then he’d gone straight to bed. He’d been asleep when Tony joined him in the loft.

So now it was morning, just after breakfast, bacon and eggs suitably vanquished. Ezra stood by the door, ready to go with his sneakers on and long socks pulled up to his knees. He clutched the insulated bag containing their lunches as he watched Elijah lace up his boots.

“I know you’re mad about this but I really think you’ll end up enjoying it. A boy should get the chance to experience nature before he’s all grown up.”

Tony decided this was his cue. He’d been watching from the loft above, where he’d gone to put on his own shoes and socks in private. He had not been invited on this particular father-son outing, but he had no intention of letting Ezra suffer alone. Tony took the steps three at a time, and appeared before them.

He raised his arms dramatically, “I’m ready to experience nature!”

“Oh!” Elijah seemed surprised. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“Ezra doesn’t want to go and you’re making him.”

“Ezra sat on the porch all day yesterday while you tried out canoeing and fishing,”

“And I hated both of them,” Tony announced.

“But you tried them and that’s all I ask,” Elijah said as Ezra rolled his eyes. “Still, if you want to come we’d be happy to have you. We’ll just need a second to pack another sandwich and tell the ladies you’ll be with us; then we’ll be off.”

While the reverend prepped an extra lunch for their afternoon, Tony sidled up beside Ezra and took the older boy’s hand. Ezra seemed briefly surprised but the scowl on his face melted into something fonder and he squeezed back.

As the day went on, Tony found he actually liked the forest. He’d meant to stay right by Ezra’s side the whole time but there were so many things to look at. He had questions about every animal that scampered by, about each bird that called down from the trees, about every plant beneath his feet. He asked Ezra and Elijah about all of it but without books at their disposal they kept running out of answers for him.

Still he didn’t stop asking them, not even after a few hours had passed and they finally stopped for lunch. Tony had gobbled his own in seconds and began to wander the clearing they’d settled in while Ezra and Elijah savored their own.

“Looka this! This one’s growing a berry. Is this a raspberry?” He waved Elijah over so he could see.

“I don’t think so, little guy. I’m not sure what it is, but it looks like the same thing as most of these ones with the white flowers. Heck if I know what kind they are though. Don’t eat it; just in case.”

Tony didn’t want to eat it; he just wanted to know what it was. He pouted.

Elijah ruffled his hair, “Sorry, kiddo. Your mom works at that plant nursery now, we should’ve brought her along, or at least grabbed a trail book.”

“I thought you said we were getting our noses out of books today,” Ezra said pointedly as he picked at his ‘crisps’. 

Elijah sighed and went to sit back down beside him. While no one was looking, Tony plucked one of the white flowers and stuffed it into the pocket of his shorts. Then he went to find something else to entertain himself.

“Come on, Ezra. You know what I meant. Besides, breathe that fresh air, look at those trees. Tell me you’re not enjoying this.” Elijah had made a tactical error.

“Fine then. I’m not enjoying myself. If you must know it’s entirely too humid for all this walking. There is still mud everywhere because of that rain storm the other night. My shoes are never going to be the same color again. We’re all sweating profusely and we reek of that horrible bug repellent which, I’d like to add, is not doing the job it advertised.”

“Do you know how lucky you are to get a chance to experience a trip like this? You should not be complaining.”

“If you don’t want me to complain then don’t ask me point-blank whether I’m enjoying myself or not.” Ezra’s voice made a funny sort of cracking noise on the last word and he hmphed in embarrassment. Elijah tried not to chuckle; he failed. “Oh, you think that’s funny do you? I’m glad you’ve found some way to enjoy yourself. It’s an improvement over you moping about because I’m not happy doing things you knew I’d dislike.”

“I’m sorry I laughed but I’m not sorry I made you do this. You’re growing up, Ezra. I mean, we all just heard it. You’re becoming a man and there are things a man should be able to do. If you’re going to turn up your nose at opportunities like the scouts or camp or sports, I’m going to find other ways to make sure you grow up right.”

“Oh _right_ , is it? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was growing up incorrectly. I didn’t even realize there was a wrong way to do it.”

Tony would usually have rushed to Ezra’s defense far earlier in the conversation but he was only half paying attention to everything they were saying. There was something moving underneath the carpet of old leaves and sticks that made up the forest floor. It was sliding, slithering underneath. Tony was entranced. He reached out and let its scaly form trail beneath his fingers.

The snake raised its head up from the safety of the leaves. Boy and snake stared at one another as a crooked smile spread across Tony’s face. Distantly he realized that Elijah and Ezra had stopped bickering with one another.

“Tony. Don’t. Move.” Elijah’s voice was harsh and low. “Stay very quiet.”

It was only then that it occurred to Tony that perhaps he ought to be scared. He’d never seen a snake in person before, though Ezra had brought a stuffed one home for him when the sixth grade went on a trip to the Bronx Zoo. He looked at them in Ezra’s big book of animals sometimes too and he knew that they _could_ be dangerous. This one had seemed so gentle though. He’d instinctively felt that it was a friend.

But then Elijah sounded so terrified and it made Tony nervous. He whimpered as the snake began to coil around his outstretched hand.

Elijah crept around Tony’s side and, with a quick motion, pulled the creature back, freeing Tony from its grasp. The snake, frightened by the sudden movement, twisted down and sunk its teeth into Elijah’s hand. He shouted in surprise, stumbled back over the root of a tree, and dropped the snake.

The creature made a break for it, slithering across the forest floor in Ezra’s direction. Elijah shouted for him to get out of the way and struggled to get to his feet, but he collapsed the moment he stood. Tony wailed, panicked that Ezra might be hurt.

The older boy, however, did not flee. He frowned, adjusted his glasses and peered down at the creature. Then, as though he’d noticed something, he broke into a relaxed smile, bent and offered his hand to it. The snake flicked its tongue out, then proceeded off into the forest at a much calmer pace, as though it too had realized there was nothing to be afraid of.

“Ezra, what were you thinking? It could have bitten you too!” Elijah did not sound well. He was sweating, either with fear or with pain, as he grasped at his ankle .

Ezra shook his head. “It only bit because it was frightened and, as long as we use a little antibacterial ointment and a bandage, you ought to be just fine. Have you a first aid kit?”

Elijah nodded, looking a little stunned. Ezra hurried over and rummaged through his pack before triumphantly pulling out a small white box. Tony squatted down to watch as Ezra pulled out a tube of that stinging stuff adults always put on cuts and carefully considered the sizes of different band aids.

“How you gonna get the poison out?” he asked.

“Poison is from things you eat. Venom is from things that attack you. Snakes can be venomous, not poisonous, and that poor fellow was neither.”

“How-how do you know?” Elijah was still clearly in pain but there was hope in his voice. “Are you sure?”

Ezra, who was carefully cleaning the wound, did not look up as he answered. “Two reasons. First, looking at your injury, the bite would have a different appearance if you’d been bitten by something with the fangs necessary to deliver venom. Secondly, the creature’s eyes. There’s a book back at the cabin that lists the animals native the area and the two varieties of venomous snakes that can be found in the Catskills both have slit shaped eyes. The one that bit you had round pupils so it had to be some other variety. A milk snake, I’d wager, rudely awoken from his midday slumber.”

Tony and Elijah just stared at him, open mouthed, as he turned from his father’s arm to his foot. “The real cause of concern is your ankle, not the bite. You seem to have done a number on it when you tripped. Does it hurt when I touch it?”

“YES!” Elijah gasped through his teeth. For a brief moment, Tony hoped he’d might follow that up by cussing. Tony was left disappointed.

“That’s a good sign actually. Numbness would imply it’s broken. More pain here or here?” Ezra asked. He sounded like a doctor. When Elijah gasped in agony, Ezra smiled. “Almost definitely a sprain then. Tony could you get the icepack out of the lunch bag and bring it here?”

Tony nodded, happy to be included, and hurried to follow Ezra’s orders. With lunch already eaten, the blue ice pack was easy to locate. It wasn’t as cold as it had been that morning though and drops of chilly water slipped off onto his fingers. When he returned to Ezra’s side, Elijah’s ankle had already been tightly wrapped in a white bandage. Ezra handed the ice pack off and demanded that his father hold it close to the wound. Elijah did what he was told without question, including swallowing a few pills that Ezra handed over after carefully studying the packaging.

“I think that’s all we can do for now. When we get back to the cabin you ought to keep it elevated but we can’t very well set you up for a long term rest out here. Still, we’ll have to keep you from putting any weight on it... I think I’m tall enough that you can lean on my shoulder. There we go.”

He helped Elijah to his feet as Tony stared on in awe. He’d already been certain that was Ezra was amazing but it was nice to be proven right.

Elijah on the other hand, was clearly shocked. “I… I… How did you know all this?”

“I did have a life before you took me in. I already knew quite a bit about basic survival in the wilderness, including the fact that I don’t find it particularly fun. Didn’t I tell you I had no need for scouts?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the version of Heart and Soul that Aziraphale remembers from WWII: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XRqy7ugfsu0
> 
> And here's a pair of youtube brothers playing a version more like what Edith and Tony were actually playing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lxxm6qQR9yg
> 
> One more chapter to go!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's playlist:  
> The Garden Song-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v9ZYZa5U9zM  
> Scarborough Fair-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-BakWVXHSug  
> I'll be Your Mirror-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dMeZCPbM6bA  
> Bohemian Rhapsody-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=axAtWjn3MfI  
> Carry On Wayward Son-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2X_2IdybTV0

It had taken them three hours to reach the clearing where they’d stopped for lunch; with Elijah’s injury it took five hours for them to get back- a rather awkward five hours. The need for emergency care had not made Aziraphale’s frustrations with his adoptive father magically disappear, but it was difficult to be curt and distant with someone who was very impressed with you and was also using you as a crutch.

Tony had been the only bright spot. Whether it was because he’d sensed the uncomfortable silence and wanted to fill it or merely because he was bored, he provided entertainment by making up stories for them as they walked. They had the sort of narrative short comings that one might expect from a seven-year-old- unnecessary violence, a few too many jokes about flatulence, and an over reliance on the types of tropes common to children’s television programs. Still, he told them well, with character voices and bombastic narration. There were even a fair few musical numbers.

Aziraphale hoped that was the part of the day he would remember most, but he doubted that would be true.

He stood now, in the upstairs bathroom, staring at his reflection in the spotted glass of the old cabin mirror. The face that stared back was very much that of a child, not yet displaying any of the signs of adolescence which his cracking voice that afternoon had heralded. Aziraphale frowned and the pudgy boy frowned too.

He looked like a human child but he was failing to be one.

He’d tried so hard this year, since Anthony had come to stay with them, to live up to the Clark’s expectations of parenthood. He’d let them teach him things, gone to birthday parties, dressed up for Halloween, made friends within his age bracket, even given video games a-go, but always he’d end up tripping over himself. He’d do _too_ well at something, like he had with the first aid that afternoon, or he wouldn’t realize just how much something mattered to them until he’d said ‘no’ one too many times or failed to drum up the proper enthusiasm.

He should’ve just agreed to go fishing yesterday instead of digging in his heels and getting tetchy over it. He’d found himself grumpier than usual lately. It was probably another sign of him failing at this.

And he wasn’t certain what to do about any of it because he couldn’t tell where any of the lines were. What behaviors were the defects of 6,000-year-old ethereal being masquerading as a child and which were simply him being himself? There were parts of Crowley that shone through in Anthony, if Aziraphale hadn’t had his memories which pieces of him would be unchanged?

And all that aside, he kept vacillating between a desire to give the poor, mortal Clarks the life they had expected and a growing concern that one or both had begun to reveal deep seated prejudice that he should not reward. Whenever he acted one way he felt guilty for not acting the other and all over something he wasn’t yet certain was true.

There was a knock; Maddy spoke. “Your mom’s got dinner ready to go on the outside table, is everything okay?”

Aziraphale put on the careful smile he’d mastered over millennia and opened the door. “Oh, I’m just fine, thank you. Is Father doing alright?”

“He’s fine. Your mom’s got him set up on that lounge chair outside with, like, twenty pillows under his foot. He keeps going on about how amazing you were in a crisis. They’re super proud of you.” She grinned and he tried to look pleased with himself but he must have gotten part of the expression wrong. Maddy stopped him, as he turned toward the stairs, by putting a soft hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure everything is fine?”

“Of course!” Aziraphale told her with a bit too much enthusiasm. “Don’t I look fine?”

“You look like you’re _trying_ to be fine.” She sat down on the edge of the lumpy bed he’d been sharing with Anthony. “Everyone else is outside. You wanna talk?”

He hesitated, certain everything would be easier if he could just force a smile and head down stairs. Against his own judgement he twisted his hands together and spoke like a man at confession. “I’m no good at being a child and I’m afraid I’m not what they wanted in a son.”

Maddy was visibly taken aback but she spoke as though he hadn’t said anything unexpected. “What makes you think that? They’re literally downstairs singing your praises.”

“They’re not _literally_ singing my praises. If they were _literally_ singing they’d be- I’m sorry. I’m being pedantic. But that’s just it! Father is thrilled because I did wilderness survival activities instead of correcting people’s word choice.” He thought back to what he’s said about venom and poison. “Well, actually I did both at once but apparently the one drowns out the other. I don’t mean to say I’m a bad child, but I’m bad at _being_ a child. I don’t like the things I’m supposed to like and I don’t act the way they want me to act. He wants someone he can play baseball with and who gets into the sort of mischief he can shake his head over with other fathers. At least with Anthony he’s gotten to play video games and make model cars. All he gets from me is good report cards. If I were a normal child they’d be proud like that all the time.”

“Ezra, I can’t think of anything weirder than a kid whose parents are proud of them all the time. There’s not a right or wrong way to be a kid. Yeah, parents sometimes get ideas into their head about what it’ll be like raising someone but no parent gets what they expected, adopted kid or not. An awesome parent will never care that things turn out different, a decent parent will get over it, and shitty parents like mine aren’t worth worrying about anyway. You don’t change yourself to fit them; that’s not your job.”

Aziraphale let himself plop down on the edge of the bed beside her. “But if I were normal…”

“I’m telling you, Ezra. You’re not weird. Maybe you and Elijah are kind of a strange fit sometimes but it’s not your fault. Somewhere there’s a couple of college professors with a kid who keeps asking to play football and they’re trying to make that work too. Besides, far as I can see right now, you and your parents are similar in the ways that matter. There’s not a lot of people out there who’d open their homes and hearts up the way you three did for me and Tony. You’re all really kind and loving and that’s why I figure it’ll work out. They love you, Ez, even if they don’t always _get_ you.”

She was looking at him warmly and with such belief that he could not but hope what she said was true. Perhaps he hadn’t failed so much at living as a human child; he’d simply been a different sort of human child than the one they had expected. And so far she was right, he’d done nothing to stop them from caring for him. He thought back to the copy of _Ferdinand the Bull_ resting on his shelves back home. Elijah was imperfect but he’d shown a willingness to improve even if that happened in fits and starts. Still, adolescence was looming on the horizon and Aziraphale could not help but wonder where the line was for them. There were questions he’d never asked about their personal belief system; questions he wasn’t sure he wanted the answers to.

“What if, in the end, they’re disappointed by who I am anyway?”

Maddy did not dismiss his question. She looked at him, expression heavy with the memory of returning to her childhood home in a time of need and finding no help waiting for her there. Her lip quirked up in a sad sort of smile. “Then there’s something wrong with them; not you. And _I_ won’t be disappointed in you no matter what. As far as I’m concerned you saved Tony. If you started murdering people I’d just assume you had a good reason for doing it.”

He giggled, the sound of it reminding him that in some ways he was very much a child at the moment. Maddy opened her arms and he hugged her, grateful to know this other human would be in his life in the coming years.

Over her shoulder he caught sight of a small freckled face, peering over the top step. Anthony’s brow was furrowed, in confusion rather than distress, as though the scene before him didn’t make any sense.

There was a moment in which Aziraphale felt dread, remembering how betrayed Anthony had felt the last time Aziraphale had spent time with Maddy. But that moment passed quickly. As Anthony slunk back down the stairs, he didn’t look angry, he looked amazed. It was like something in his world had completely shifted. Thinking on what Maddy had just said, Aziraphale wondered if mother and son weren’t so different.

Maddy could think no ill of Aziraphale because he’d shown kindness to Anthony. Perhaps Anthony couldn’t view his mother as a villain after he’d seen her shown kindness to Aziraphale.

* * *

Tony’s bedtime had just passed but it did not seem like anyone was going to send him upstairs. They’d all been outside since dinner, sitting together as the sky darkened and the stars overhead began to appear. His mother had gotten a rather impressive blaze going in the fire pit and they’d all gathered around it to fight off the growing chill of night.

Tony sat, pressed close against Ezra’s side, but it was Maddy he kept casting furtive glances toward. Ezra had been in a bad mood since yesterday and Tony hadn’t been able to do anything about it, but his mother had. Ezra had spoken to her and he’d come downstairs a bit calmer, a bit more at peace.

If Tony could’ve asked his mother to do anything in the world for him it would be to make Ezra smile like that. She’d done it without him asking.

Just now Ezra’s expression was starting to cloud over again. He frowned at Elijah. “I told you I don’t like camping.”

“I know, buddy. But I promise you’ll like this. Don’t think of it as a camping thing; think of it as a cooking thing. You’ll like it. I promise.”

“But on a stick mother found in the woods?”

“Fine. Use the long fork from the grill, just put a marshmallow on the end and hold it over the fire. Or use both prongs and make one for Tony.” Elijah, who could only bend so far while keeping his foot elevated, leaned over and handed Ezra a fork and a bag of marshmallows. Ezra eyed him suspiciously but followed directions.

“I wanna hold something in the fire!” Tony interrupted. The adults all made eye contact.

Edith smiled at him. “Why don’t you help me unwrap the chocolate instead?”

Tony shrugged and agreed. He could steal a few extra squares this way anyway. Ezra wrinkled his nose. “Do we only have Hershey’s? It’s so acidic.”

“The sweetness of the marshmallow and graham cracker will balance it. I’m actually not sure it would work as well with a richer chocolate,” Elijah said. “Those are starting to get a good color. You can leave them in longer if you’d like a little burnt taste otherwise they should do fine.”

Ezra pulled the marshmallows out of the fire and watched as his father showed him how to sandwich them each so that the chocolate would melt on its own. With two s’mores ready, Tony and Ezra each took one.

Edith had gone around to the other side of the fire, video camera now in hand. Sitting below her, Tony saw his mother smiling at him. Her expression was as melty as the marshmallows, as though she were just glad she got to be there for the moment.

Ezra bumped the s’mores together, “Cheers, I suppose.”

They each took a bite. It was delicious, as Tony expected it would be, and he could feel chocolate and marshmallow dripping together down his chin. He was too busy watching Ezra to care. The older boy’s face had brightened the moment he bit down, then he closed his eyes and savored it. Tony had scarfed his completely by the time Ezra took a second taste.

“I thought you’d like it,” Elijah said. Ezra wiped at the corners of his mouth with a paper napkin before smiling at his father.

“I suppose you do know me some, don’t you.”

Tony’s mother was still looking at him. “You like it too?”

He nodded, though it was clear he wasn’t having the same experience the older boy was.

“Guess you’re not much of a foody though, huh? I think I’ve got a better treat for you.” She winked at Edith who hurried back into the house to get something, although Tony couldn’t imagine what it might be. His mother kept talking. “While you guys were out on your little adventure today, Edith and I were exploring the cabin and we found the key to that closet upstairs. We were going to open it with you, but Edith was worried we might find something scary in there like… I don’t really know, rats maybe? She got pretty worked up. Kind of silly considering you guys were the ones having a snake fight, so yeah. Anyway, we did find some stuff in there, mostly extra blankets and towels and stuff. But there was one other thing and I think I got it all tuned up.”

Edith reappeared, as if on cue, with an acoustic guitar cradled in her arms. Tony cocked his head as she handed it over to Maddy and she settled it onto one knee.

“You can’t play any instruments!” he said, as though he’d be the one to know. Elijah had begun wiping s’more goo off of Tony’s face and fingers, but he ignored this to keep frowning at his mother.

“I practiced a little bit today but I’m still really rusty. I _can_ play though. My aunt taught me back when I was in middle school. She died during my sophomore year but I kept playing up through college…” Her voice trailed off as she strummed a few chords.

“Dad made you stop?” Tony asked.

His mother looked very sad and he wished he hadn’t asked. Then she nodded and stuck out her tongue, “We can make all the music we want now though, huh?”

Tony tried not to smile back but he was pretty sure he did anyway.

“Okay, so I’ve got kind of a limited number of songs … Mostly just stuff my aunt liked and she was kind of a hippy. Mom couldn’t stand her. Let’s see… what’s an easy one…?”

Her fingers nervously skated over the strings as she tried to decide on something. Eventually the uncertain plucking began to take form and Maddy started to sing.

_“Inch by inch, row by row, gonna make this garden grow_

_All it takes is a rake and a hoe and a piece of fertile ground._

_Inch by inch, row by row, someone bless these seeds I sow_

_Someone warm them from below, ‘til the rain comes tumblin’ down.”_

Tony could not remember ever hearing his mother sing before. The sound made him feel warm though, and safe and happy too. Somewhere deep down he was sure he must have heard it before, back when he was so little he couldn’t remember anything at all. Back when he was just a baby, when he was crying and his father was raging, she had sung to him until he was strong enough to find music on his own.

When the song was over he wanted her to play something else, so she did. The next song was another he did not recognize, although Ezra did immediately.

“That’s not a hippy song; that’s a medieval folk song!”

“You know the lyrics?” Maddy asked.

“Not exactly this version,” Ezra admitted. And Tony was disappointed because he’d wanted them to sing together. “I don’t think parsley was in it back then, and it was all a little different. It’s lovely though.”

There were more songs after that, none of which Tony recognized. A silly one and a sad one and then one that made Tony’s brain itch at just the first few notes. He was certain he’d never heard it before but he knew every lyric and he began to sing them.

“ _I’ll be your mirror_

_Reflect what you are, in case you don’t know_

_I’ll be the wind, the rain and the sunset_

_The light on your door to show that you’re home_

_When you think the night has seen your mind_

_That inside you’re twisted and unkind_

_Let me stand to show that you are blind_

_Please put down your hands_

_‘Cause I see you”_

Maddy’s voice had trailed off after just one line and her fingers stilled as she came to the end of the first chorus. Everyone was staring at him. His mother raised an eyebrow, “Tony, when did you listen to _Velvet Underground_?”

Ezra, who’d been nursing a mug of sleepy time tea, suddenly fumbled it, dropping it to the ground and splashing the contents all over his shoes. “Was _that_ a _Velvet Underground_?”

Maddy nodded.

“I dunno. I don’t think I ever heard it before. I just know it.”

“You can’t just know a whole song like that, Tony,” Elijah told him.

“Well, I did.” He folded his arms and glared. “It made my brain itch ‘cause I knew it.”

Maddy shrugged. “Well, you must have heard it somewhere. Maybe they were guests on some old Muppet episode or something. I guess it doesn’t matter… You want me to show you how to play it?”

He did. He really, really, really did. And, remembering how she’d comforted Ezra before, he supposed there wasn’t any reason to say no. Tony got up from Ezra’s side and went to sit on his mother’s lap. She placed the guitar in front of both of them and let him strum while she held down the right strings. He wasn’t _really_ playing, not like he did on the piano, but maybe she’d get a guitar sometime when they were all back home and then she could actually show him how it worked.

There were a few more songs after that and then the guitar went away. Even then, though, Tony stayed where he was. He had not sat in his mother’s lap for such a very long time. Not since they’d been homeless in the park together, when she’d been shaky and sweaty and nervous. She felt much sturdier now and her lap felt safe.

He was growing tired but he felt quite snuggled and content. There were so many stars out here, twinkling down on them. His mother’s arms were warm and Ezra was laughing at something his father said while Edith added another log to the fire.

Tony remembered something. He wiggled in his mother’s arms until he could reach into his pocket and pull out the little white flower he’d taken off the trail. He held it up so that his mother could see it.

“What’s this flower called?”

She took it from him, cocking her head to one side as she studied it. “What did the rest of the plant look like?”

“Green mostly and some of the flowers had turned to these red kind of berries and it was real low to the ground.”

“I think that’s a Creeping Dogwood. My boss told me the berries taste gross but they’re not poisonous.”

“Did you know, it’s venom when something bites you and poison when you bite it?” he told her although he wasn’t really thinking about that at all. He was thinking about how his mother had answered his question. He liked when people did that.

Before long, he started to drift off and Elijah announced that it was time for he and Ezra to be heading up to bed. Ezra took his hand and led him away but only after Maddy had given him a big hug. She almost kissed him on the cheek, but didn’t, as though she was afraid he might get mad.

Tony decided he would have let her.

He almost fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow but Ezra spoke just as he began to close his eyes.

“You know. Tony. If you liked that kind of music, you really should let your mother show you the room for you in her apartment. It’s not big and it’s mostly taken up by a record machine, but she’s got that song you sang and a lot of others. They’re waiting for you, when you’re ready for them.”

Tony was starting to realize that there were a lot of nice things that had just been waiting for him to be ready.

* * *

The second half of the vacation was much smoother than the first and by the time they were piling back into the Clarks’ minivan, Aziraphale was sad to leave the cabin behind. With Elijah essentially home bound, it became much more acceptable for everyone else to while away the long summer afternoons in the shade of the overhanging porch.

There was time for reading books, talking, and testing out every board game left on the rental property. And sometimes Aziraphale had gone off to enjoy the woods, because if Anthony requested it, he could hardly say ‘no’. They ran about the forest playing what Anthony called ‘Lord of the Rings’ but which seemed to be mostly about hitting things with sticks. On their last night there, Maddy showed them how to skip stones across the pond.

And now the trip was over. A much quieter drive back, in which whoever wasn’t driving napped, had brought them all the way home to the church parking lot. It was Sunday, but the guest pastor had already given his sermon and the parishioners had already gone home. Aziraphale was glad of this. It was nice to be able to yawn and stretch and unpack their bags without having to put on social faces.

Elijah handed Anthony and Aziraphale their luggage, so that they might go and put everything away in their room. Instead of following straight away, Anthony lingered by the car a moment, staring back at his mother who was chatting happily with Edith.

“Is everything alright, Anthony?”

“Yeah, I’m coming.” But the child remained quiet even as they tramped up stairs and sorted out their clothing. Aziraphale didn’t push but he kept a careful eye out. Anthony kept glancing out the window toward their nearby church. “Do you think she’d mind if we went and listened to that music you told me about?”

“It’s only 2’o’clock. Why don’t we give her half an hour to get settled and then we can head on over?” Anthony nodded and, at precisely two-thirty, Aziraphale took his hand and they walked together to the little apartment nestled in the church.

Maddy was surprised when they knocked on the door but clearly over the moon to have Anthony there of his own accord. He became suddenly bashful, which he hadn’t really been on their trip. He squeezed in endearingly close to Aziraphale and tugged on his hand.

“You tell her.”

“Er, alright then. I told him, the other night after you played all those songs, that you had that sort of music for him here. He’d very much like to hear it.” Aziraphale felt a bit strange relaying the information. He remembered the first night he’d met them, well the first night he’d met _her_ , precisely when he’d met Anthony was debatable. Either way, that evening, two nights before Christmas, Anthony had tugged on his mother’s hand and asked her to speak to Aziraphale for him. It seemed odd to have the shoe on the other foot.

“Of course you can, Tony. It’s right in here.” Maddy smiled, as though it did not bother her to have her own son refuse to speak directly. She led the two guests into the small bedroom reserved for Anthony’s benefit.

She’d decorated since first moving in, with one bold red wall and a wide trim painted to look like piano keys. She’d installed a floating shelf above the record player as well, and lined up all the record sleeves. There was a little step ladder too, folded up and placed in the corner. It gave just enough height for a seven-year-old boy who was slightly tall for his age to reach every song.

All the room needed was a bed and a child willing to sleep in it.

Tony gawked at all the records lined up. “All those are mine?”

“Yup. Ezra helped me pick them out for you. You want help getting them down?”

He did and he wanted to see all of them. Aziraphale and Maddy helped him cycle through the covers, some of which Aziraphale began to doubt were necessarily appropriate for his age. Maddy didn’t seem concerned.

“They’re all yours, and I can show you how to play them so you can listen whenever you want,” she explained. “Here’s the record with that song you knew on it. And Ezra seemed to think you’d like this one a lot.”

She held up a black record sleeve with four very serious men staring out from its cover. Anthony furrowed his brow as he read the title. “They don’t look like queens.”

Aziraphale snorted and tried to not laugh at precisely the moment Maddy did the very same thing. Tony pouted, knowing that he’d missed something but unsure what it was.

“It’s just their band name kiddo. Well, kind of just… It’s their band name.”

“You coulda just said.”

“Right, so let me show you how to play it.” The three of them gathered around the record player, Anthony up on the step stool, as she showed him how to handle what he saw as ancient technology.

He was being very careful, immediately recognizing the record as something far more fragile than the plastic tapes Edith kept over in the Clarks’ house. He leaned in close while Maddy showed him how the needle worked. She let him practice placing it down a few times, before they actually turned the machine on.

At the first strains of voices harmonizing together, Anthony froze. His eyes stayed fixed on the record, spinning round and round, as the song moved from quiet to bombastic and back again. Aziraphale craned his neck around so that he could watch his face.

Anthony had remembered a song the other night, one none of the adults had ever introduced him to, one no one was certain how he’d learned. But Aziraphale knew. He remembered it from another life; he remembered it from being Crowley. Perhaps then, there was the chance he’d remember other things.

Maybe he’d remember Aziraphale.

As the last notes of the first song faded into nothingness, Maddy turned the machine off. Anthony shook his head, as though he were trying to bring himself back from somewhere else. He wrinkled his nose at his mother. “Why’d you turn it off?”

“I just wanted to check if you were alright. You completely zoned out there.”

“I didn’t zone out!” Anthony insisted. “I zoned _in_. I was listening really close. It gave me the… the thing. The thing where you remember it already. Ezra, what’s it called?”

“De ja vu?” Aziraphale proffered, voice quiet. He was still ‘Ezra’ then. That was alright. He hadn’t really expected anything else. That hadn’t been the point.

“Right. De ja vu. Thanks, angel!” Anthony grinned at him brilliantly before turning back to his mother. “It made my head itch but I liked it. Turn it back on.”

“Well, as long as you’re okay. Here, so when you want to skip to a certain song, you’ve got to kind of figure out where the needle ought to go and put it there. If you’ve got a song you really like on a record you play all the time, you’ll kind of get a sense for it. Right now, it’s just guessing.”

She showed him and another song began to play. He stood, entranced, for the entire rest of the album as Aziraphale and Maddy relocated themselves to the sitting room. She offered him a glass of water and what limited reading she had in the house (he chose _Bridget Jones Diary_ , which Maddy briefly considered denying him before waving her hand and saying ‘eh, you’re mature’).

He’d thought perhaps when the first album came to a close, he and Anthony would head home, but Anthony only requested help in putting on another. She chose something called a ‘beetles’ which Anthony seemed to like very much. When that one ended, she revealed that there were a great deal more beetles, and Anthony wanted to listen to absolutely all of them right away.

“You’d have to stay for dinner,” Maddy told him.

Anthony agreed.

Maddy was bright as the sun when she turned to Aziraphale. “When you head back could you tell your parents Tony and I are going to stay over here?”

“Oh... Oh, yes. Of course.” By this Aziraphale realized he would not be staying with them. He tucked the book under his arm and waved goodbye to Anthony. He got a hug goodbye, but only a brief one, before Anthony returned to sit before the record player.

The walk back to the Clarks’ house seemed very long. Both Edith and Elijah were thrilled that Anthony had chosen to stay with his mother. Edith went so far as to put a hand over her heart. “I was starting to think this would never happen.”

Aziraphale was quiet as they ate. Edith and Elijah filled the space with upbeat conversation. They talked about maybe going into the city to see the Metropolitan Museum of Art before the summer was over and how they’d have to try making s’mores over the stove since Aziraphale had liked them so much. They suggested having Keisha and some of his other dance class friends over after the summer recital. Elijah even mentioned having a church talent show as a fundraiser where Aziraphale could try out some of the magic tricks from the magician set he’d gotten for Christmas.

Distantly, Aziraphale registered that much of what they were saying was remarkably supportive. There was no mention of baseball or boy scouts. It was all dancing and performance and museums. It was all things that made Aziraphale himself. But he just stared dejectedly at his spaghetti and forced himself to take each bite.

“It’s hard letting him go, isn’t it, buddy? Even when he’s just a house over, it’s hard.”

“I-” Aziraphale had not realized he was being so obvious. “I’m very happy. This is wonderful. This is exactly what was supposed to happen.”

He was an angel and therefore not technically British, but he’d lived there long enough to call upon a stiff upper lip when he needed one. He looked at the Clarks and managed not to cry.

“Do you want to come over to drop a sleeping bag off for him later, in case he wants to stay the night over there?” Edith asked gently.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” he agreed. “If he wants to. He might not want to.”

But as it turned out, he did.

When the Clarks arrived at Maddy’s apartment with a pair of Anthony’s pajamas and an old sleeping bag of Elijah’s, they found mother and son sitting together in front of the record player. They looked right together, all red hair and freckles and excited discussions of bebop. She was such a good match for him now that she’d found herself.

Anthony had his knees pulled up to his chin and he stared at her in awe as she explained something or other about a band called Kansas. He was all questions and she was all answers and it was everything Aziraphale could have wanted for him.

Aziraphale kept telling himself he was happy.

“We don’t want to interrupt, but we thought we’d bring an overnight bag just in case Tony was thinking of staying,” Edith said, as Maddy was about to switch one record with another.

“You up for that, Tony?” He nodded immediately, not even giving the question a second thought. At least not until he saw Aziraphale. Then he faltered.

“I mean, I don’t know.”

Aziraphale could not let that happen on his account. “Anthony, you should stay. You’re having such a lovely time.”

“But… you gotta read to me…”

“It’s only one night. And if you really want me to, you can just call and I’ll read to you over the phone.” Anthony nodded then, before rushing over and giving Aziraphale a tight squeeze.

“I’ll probably call then.”

Aziraphale nodded, although he did not believe that was true.

“Okay, here’s your stuff, little guy.” Elijah handed over the bag, “And if we forgot anything, we’re just around the corner. Come on over and knock.”

Then the Clarks, Aziraphale included, left. Behind them music sounded out once more.

“ _Carry on my wayward son_

_There’ll be peace when you are done_

_Lay your weary head to rest_

_Don’t you cry no more.”_

Aziraphale made it all the way out of the church building before bursting into tears.

“Oh, Ez. It’s alright. He’s still so close and it’s wonderful that he’s back with his mom. He’s not going anywhere.”

“I… I… I…” It was very difficult to talk while sobbing. “I know. I’m being… I’m being… utterly foolish. This is… it’s perfect. It’s just… exactly… what I wanted to happen.”

“That doesn’t make it easier though, huh?” Elijah pulled Aziraphale close. “It’s okay. Just let it out.”

There were two Aziraphales there for a moment. One who, perhaps for the first time, truly felt like a human child- crying and comforted in his father’s arms. The other, an angel who’d spent six millennia caring for a being who’d had no one else to confide in. Who’d spent six millennia with it all being just the two of them.

Now there was someone else to care for Crowley and that was wonderful.

And that was excruciatingly lonely.

It would all be fine in a week or so. Anthony’s bed would be moved to his mother’s apartment, but he would sprint over every morning for breakfast, and the Drakes would usually come over for dinner as well. Aziraphale would find other times to read to him. They’d spend the long summer afternoons together playing games or talking or just sitting in one another’s company.

In Anthony’s absence, Aziraphale’s room was redecorated into something more befitting of a soon to be teenager with a keen interest in academics. The sports trimming came down, he got his very own desk and a poster of Gene Kelly. And still Anthony was there more often than not. Still they spent more time together than they had in six millennia.

But that first year together had been beautiful for all it had been hard and so, on the night it ended, Aziraphale mourned its loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've come to the end of part 2; I hope you all enjoyed it!
> 
> Part 3 will be posted next week on Wednesday as usual. The first chapter is a bit prologuey so I'm going to be posting the first TWO chapters together to start everything off.


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